


Before you felt it, how'd you know?

by CodenameArtemis



Category: White Collar
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Adoption, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bonding, Domestic Fluff, Drama, F/M, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Kid Neal Caffrey, Mother-Son Relationship, Neal Caffrey Needs a Hug, Protective Elizabeth Burke (White Collar), Protective Neal Caffrey, Protective Peter Burke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameArtemis/pseuds/CodenameArtemis
Summary: Elizabeth and Peter Burke didn't know the significance of meeting young Neal Caffrey until he'd slipped into their lives and then their hearts like a thief in the night. Now, nothing will ever be the same.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke & Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 25
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters, plot, dialogue, or settings. All mistakes made are my own.

It was a warm spring afternoon in Brooklyn without a cloud in the sky and no rain scheduled for days. Prospect Park was alive with activity. Elizabeth Burke had gotten off early from the gallery and had in mind a lovely walk in the park with her sweet dog Satchmo. 

Elizabeth and Peter hadn’t had Satchmo long; he was only 3 months old and still quite the little guy with paws and head just a little too big for his body. He was affectionate, playful and clumsy. Her husband had caved and let her name the puppy, knowing her love of all things jazz and Louis Armstrong. Needless to say, the couple was still very much getting used to chew marks on the furniture and their shoes going mysteriously missing.

Elizabeth watched the golden lab puppy now with a wide smile as he pulled at his leash for her to walk faster, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as he panted. She’d even brought the Nancy Drew novel she’d been reading for when Satchmo inevitably wore himself out and passed out at her feet. 

This was becoming almost a weekly routine for Elizabeth, and she quite enjoyed this time of unwinding after work before she went back home to have dinner ready for Peter. Satchmo was obviously loving the time outside, chasing squirrels and trying to eat rocks. Elizabeth was almost finished with the chapter she was on when she felt Satchmo tug at his lead.

She looked up to see a boy walking along the sidewalk toward her, hands shoved deep in his jean pockets, worn sneakers softly thudding against the pavement. He couldn’t have been more than 10 or so, very lean, and mostly all arms and legs. Elizabeth found herself watching him as he came close, and Satchmo lurched to his feet in an attempt to greet him.

The boy saw the puppy first and didn’t seem to notice Elizabeth’s gaze on him as his face broke into a dimpled grin. Satchmo’s tail was wagging hard and he was straining to reach so Elizabeth loosened the tension on the leash. The kid bent down and welcomed the puppy with open arms, even as he finally glanced up at her. Satchmo licked the boy’s fingers and bumped his head up into his hand so he could be scratched.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but be taken aback at the boy’s bright blue eyes that peeked out from underneath a mop of dark wavy hair. They watched each other for a long moment. He seemed a little embarrassed, eyes wide and intent on her. 

“Oh sorry, I should have asked before touching your dog,” he said softly, quickly retracting his hand and rising to leave.

She waved him off, and the lab puppy whined his protest at the loss of contact. “It’s quite alright. I don’t mind and Satchmo certainly doesn’t either. You are more than welcome to pet him.” 

The boy briefly considered her words and then crouched back down and started petting Satchmo again who had rolled over on his belly. He cracked a small smile at the dog and ran his nails along Satchmo’s chest. Neither said anything as the boy let the puppy chew on one of his fingers, and Elizabeth watched with a hidden smile behind her book. 

“You like Louis Armstrong?” the boy asked after a few moments of giving the dog his full attention.

Elizabeth lowered her book, surprise and delight on her face. “Very much. You like him too?” 

“Yeah.” She thought that he might ask something else, but he didn’t. He merely changed positions so that he was sitting cross-legged next to the dog and didn’t look back up at her.

There was a somewhat awkward beat of silence.

“I’m Elizabeth. What’s your name?” She studied him, trying to pinpoint his age and if he was out here by himself or if someone was nearby. 

He paused in petting Satchmo at her question and ducked his head down so she couldn’t see his expression fully. “Neal,” he said, peeking up at her through absurdly long eyelashes. He internally cringed as he realized his slip up with giving his real name. He was never supposed to give his real name. _Rule number one._

She gave him a soft smile that lit up her face. “It’s nice to meet you, Neal.” He thought her smile made her look really kind. It was a genuine smile and not something he often saw from people and certainly never strangers. There was nothing he could do about giving the wrong name, so he did his best to force himself to relax. It wasn’t that big of a deal no matter what Mozzie would say to him if he knew.

“You too,” he said, putting his hand in the fur at Satchmo’s neck and scratching as he watched the dog’s leg kick in response. He liked dogs because they were as honest as anything could be, and they didn’t even know the concept of deception. Dogs were also way more trustworthy than people. Dogs were safe.

Elizabeth chuckled, shaking her head. “Satchmo’s really taken with you. He’s loving all that undivided attention you’re giving him. You seem like a dog lover. You have your own at home?” She was curious about him but didn’t want to seem like she was invading his privacy.

“No, I don’t.” Short and sweet.

“Hmm.” She glanced at her dog. “Well, I make a habit of walking Satch in the afternoons. I’m sure he’d love someone to play with. If you find yourself in the park again with some free time…”

Neal bit his lip, clearly taken off guard by her invitation. She didn’t appear to be fishing for information about him and he didn’t get any weird vibes off her. All he saw from her was genuine friendliness. 

“Okay,” he said, getting to his feet, his eyes shifting around the area where they were. He was silently begging that she didn’t ask any more questions about him. Mozzie always warned him about how dangerous questions and curious people could be. Neal found himself not wanting to lie to her, if he could help it.

She almost asked if he lived nearby but didn’t want to be intrusive. Seeing that he suddenly looked like he wanted to bolt, she kept her curiosity in check.

She closed her book and stood up from the bench, following the boy’s lead. “Would you like me to walk with you? I want to make sure you get where you’re going safely.” Surely, his parents would appreciate someone making sure that he was looked after.

He looked a like a deer caught in headlights before he quickly recovered with a dimpled smile that could have been meant to disarm her. Neal shoved his hands back in his pockets, looking deliberately nonchalant. “I’m supposed to meet my brother for dinner. It’s only a few blocks away. I’ll be fine.” Partial truth, it was the best he could do.

Elizabeth furrowed her brows but conceded his words with a nod. “Okay, if you’re sure.” 

She really didn’t like the idea of him walking anywhere alone. Elizabeth could only hope that his family was keeping tabs on where he was. She kept her mouth shut, knowing it wasn’t her business. 

He touched Satchmo’s head one last time and gave Elizabeth a polite smile. “Thank you for letting me play with your dog. I’d better get going.” 

She returned his smile with one of her own. “Of course! Be safe okay, sweetie?”

His expression registered mild surprise, but he covered it well enough. “I will.”

Elizabeth finally looked away from Neal’s retreating form to the phone she’d pulled out of her purse. It was almost 5 o’clock and Peter would be home by 6. It was time to head back. “Come on, boy, let’s go.” Satchmo obediently followed her out of the park.

  


...

  


Peter Burke walked through the front door of his Brooklyn townhouse, placing his coat on the rack by the door and his keys in the bowl. Satchmo greeted him enthusiastically, going to jump on his nice pant legs before Peter firmly told him to get down. The dog’s head ducked at the slight rebuke and Peter, with a shake of his head, grinned and bent down to run his hand over Satchmo’s head. The dog was instantly forgiving and barked and wagged his pleasure. 

Elizabeth poked her head around the corner from the kitchen, hearing Satchmo make his excitement known that his other favorite human was home. “Hey Hon, dinner will be ready in a sec.”

“It smells amazing, El,” Peter said, taking a deep breath in and savoring the feeling of being home. She’d set up the dining table, sweet scented flowers were in a vase in the middle – her favorite kind. It was quaint and beautiful and so very much like his wife. 

She returned, spaghetti with homemade meatballs in hand and put it on the table. Peter wasted no time in tugging Elizabeth in for a kiss. She melted into him, arms sliding around his waist. 

“Hi Hon,” he spoke against her lips. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, Hon.” She pulled back to see his face better. “Tough day?” Her hand touched his chest.

He sighed and shook his head. “No, just long...and boring.” 

“Another mortgage fraud?” Her hand traveled to his forearm and rubbed soothingly.

“Yeah, and a hell of a lot of reports to finish. I got a cramp in my hand from all the writing I did.” He flexed his hand to prove his point and she reached for it, pressing her nimble fingers into the muscles of his palm. He huffed out a sigh. “And how was your day?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Better than yours by the sounds of it. Nothing more than the usual to report. Satchmo made a friend at the park though.”

“Hmm,” Peter hummed, enjoying the feeling of her massaging his hand. “Was this a four-legged friend?”

“Two-legged actually. He was cute too.” 

Peter made a face, his nose scrunching up. “What do you mean he was cute?”

Laughing, Elizabeth patted her husband’s cheek. “Don’t sound so vaguely alarmed. He was only about 10 so I think you’re safe.” 

He immediately softened at her words, shaking his head at himself. “It’s only because I’m more than aware that I married up. Way up.” He smiled her favorite crooked smile. “So, this kid got a name?” 

Elizabeth kissed his cheek and then they finally pulled apart to sit opposite each other at the dinner table. “Neal. He seemed like a sweet kid and Satchmo loved him.” Said puppy had moved to be near them and was chewing on one of his toys next to one of the chair legs.

Peter studied his wife, his lips quirking upward. “You seem quite taken with him yourself, El.” They each helped themselves to a serving of spaghetti and began eating.

She rolled a shoulder. “There was just something about him, Peter. He only hung around for about 10 minutes and we didn’t talk much. He did ask me if I liked Louis Armstrong though.”

“Ah,” Peter said, putting his fork down. “A fellow jazz enthusiast. I see why you like him.”

“Yeah, but it was more than that too. I don’t know.”

Peter stood up and grabbed himself a beer out of the fridge and poured Elizabeth a glass of her favorite red wine. “You’re hoping to see him again?” he asked, hazarding a guess from the look on her face.

She grabbed the glass he held out for her. “I am,” she said. 

“Well, I hope you do too. Satchmo could use a playmate.” The puppy, sensing that he was being discussed, thumped his tail against the wood floor and made a huffing noise through his nose.

They shared smiles and clanked bottle and glass together. “Yeah, it’ll be good for him,” Elizabeth agreed. What she didn’t add was that maybe it’d be good for her too. This boy had gotten her attention and her curiosity was peaked. Where that might lead her, she didn’t know.

  


...

  


Neal had walked a few blocks down to a corner café that served his favorite Tuscan roasted turkey sandwich and ordered food for both himself and Moz, hoping to not make what he’d told that nice lady at the park a total lie. It was stupid, he knew because he lied about pretty much everything to everyone. He lied to DCS. He lied to the foster families he got stuck with. He lied to almost all adults that he came across. He even lied to his friend Mozzie and his social worker June, sometimes. It was how he survived. It was how he protected himself.

Lying came easily to him. He’d done it for as long as he could remember. That wasn’t to say he lied _all the time_. There was a certain technique to lying and it wasn’t to say the first thing that came to mind or make up the most outrageous thing he could come up with. That was what would get him caught. No, the best lies were always the ones that were the closest to the truth. Lies were the best kind of armor to have.

He’d asked Mozzie once why he had to lie so much and his friend had given him that patented look through thick framed glasses and said, _isn’t it obvious? People like us... We lie to protect ourselves and our interests. Don’t make it out to be some terrible thing. It’s simply a tool in our belts._ It was a tool today that Neal had found very difficult to use on the woman with the lab puppy and the very kind eyes. There was no real reason to lie to her, so he didn’t.

She would have made an easy mark. He could tell just by observing that she clearly did well enough for herself, and it would have been a piece of cake distracting her and slipping a quick hand inside her purse or possibly snagging the bracelet around her right wrist. He could have told her some sob story about not having food and she probably would have bought him dinner and food for the next day too. She seemed nice and he’d learned that nice could always be manipulated. Neal had gotten one look at the puppy and had been instantly distracted though. Whatever possible plan he could have come up with was gone.

Elizabeth. That’s what she had said her name was and she’d asked for his in return. Caught up in the puppy, he’d told her the name he’d been given at birth by his mother. Neal was just thankful he hadn’t tacked on his last name or Mozzie would have wanted to kill him. If DCS caught wind of where Neal was then he’d be in deep trouble. 

He’d learned the hard way that attracting too much attention was bad, very bad. A recipe for getting snatched up and dumped back in a group home by the state. Neal had no interest in spending any more time in foster care than he already had. If Mozzie could look after himself at this age than Neal could too. It didn’t matter how many times June promised that she’d find a lovely permanent home for him. June meant well, but Neal was positive no such thing existed. Family was only good for two things, leaving or dying on you.

He didn’t think it was going to hurt anything if there was at least one person out there that he didn’t have to pretend to be someone else. His plan was to remain anonymous to this woman, Elizabeth, if he ended up seeing her again that was. Let her jump to her own conclusions about where he lived and what his family was like. He’d keep everything he said to her simple and surface level just like he’d been taught. If she ever found out that he was a runaway...

But if he was careful, she would never suspect anything. Mozzie would make a fuss about it, but the rebellious side of Neal didn’t really care. Playing with fire could land him back in DCS's care but it was a risk he found himself willing to take. 

Neal didn’t want to tell Mozzie that while the life they led was fun and cool and thrilling, it was also lonely too. Outside of Moz, there wasn’t anyone excepting June that he trusted even a little. Nothing good ever came from trusting the wrong person and it had landed him in hot water a time or two. His friend had stressed keeping everyone at a safe distance in case anything went sideways, and Neal was inclined to agree with him.

Mozzie told him that anyone who knew personal info about him could turn on him or be used against him. Neal had been told it was always better to air on the side of caution. Mozzie was super paranoid like that. Caution and paranoia were a way of life for his friend and Neal was beginning to see the perks.

Close friends were rare for Neal even when he was little. He’d always been a loner and he supposed part of that came from being left to do whatever he wanted while his mother was busy at one of the two jobs she had. Other kids often slowed him down, so he made the choice to do things on his own and the habit sort of stuck. He was better on his own. There had been no one to rat him out or talk him down from particularly riskier actions. There was no one who knew enough to betray him. He liked it that way.

This was one of the reasons that Neal loved dogs so much. They didn’t care who you were, what your name was or where you came from. There was no lying to a dog. They always had a knack for seeing who people really were. So, Neal kind of hoped he saw Satchmo again and have at least one friend he could trust with all his secrets. Elizabeth hadn’t seemed bad either, as far as adults went and all things considered.

He was already spending too much time thinking about them. Neal felt a little desperate and knew he was probably being ridiculous. It didn’t matter if he saw them again. It didn’t. 

Neal took a cab back to the temporary place he shared with Mozzie, a converted studio apartment in Queens. The cabbie gave him a funny look until Neal shoved quite a few bills into his hand, and then the guy didn’t care enough to ask why a kid was taking a cab across town by himself. He’d shot a text to let his friend know he’d be bringing dinner, and yes, he made sure to get gluten free bread on the sandwich. When he arrived, letting himself inside, he found Mozzie watching an old foreign film, glass of wine, half empty on the coffee table in front of his feet. 

“Mon frère, I was wondering when you’d be joining me. Thanks for bringing dinner. How’d things go today?” Mozzie asked, glancing back at him from his spot on the sofa.

Neal put the food down on the coffee table and started emptying his pockets of the cash and jewelry he’d gotten that day. It was maybe a few hundred dollars all together, but he was still doing small time stuff because Mozzie was slowly working him up to bigger jobs. He’d told Neal pretty much straight up that there were some things they wouldn’t be able to do until Neal was older because people didn’t trust kids. There were sides of the criminal world that Mozzie hoped the kid never witnessed first-hand. Also, criminal activity was kind of hard when they already trying to stay off government radar.

“It went alright.” He slumped onto the sofa next to Mozzie and grabbed his sandwich and wasted no time in digging into it. Neal tried to keep his face neutral as he chewed.

Mozzie took a long look at him with squinty eyes. “Hmm, why do I get the feeling there’s something else you’d like to share?” The kid was often an enthusiastic chatterbox about the activities of the day, always quick to brag about how clever he’d been so Mozzie was immediately suspicious of the noncommittal act. 

Mid-bite Neal paused, eyes widening. He swallowed before answering. “Uh, no. Can’t think of anything.” The guy had a sixth sense when it came to information. It really wasn’t fair. 

Mozzie bumped his shoulder and reached for his own food. “What, did you get made or something? I won’t be upet if you did.” 

The kid gave him a disbelieving look and shook his head. “No, Moz. I’m good. Too good to get made by anyone.”

Mozzie chuckled. “Confident, are we? Huh. If not that than what exactly?”

“I met someone in the park earlier.” 

“Okay, and?” Mozzie said, waving a hand at him like that wasn’t some great revelation. Neal took another huge bite and chewed slowly. He glanced sideways to find Mozzie staring him down unabashedly.

“...I might have given this same someone my real name,” Neal mumbled around his sandwich.

Mozzie’s back went ramrod straight and he glared through his glasses at the kid. “Amateur hour, Neal. I taught you better than that.” 

Neal looked down at his knees. “There was a dog. I got distracted.”

“Of course, there’d be a dog! I told you no real names, Neal! It’s too dangerous!” Mozzie thundered out, throwing his hands in the air and shaking his head in disbelief.

“Relax, Moz. I didn’t give my last name. It should be fine,” the kid insisted, scowling and rolling his eyes.

Mozzie loosened up after a long moment once he took a large gulp of wine. “I suppose there are worse things you could have done. What made you say your real name, anyway? And don’t try to tell me it was just the dog. I know you, Neal. It had to be something else too.”

Neal shrugged, eyes shifting down and away before he froze, looking caught. “I don’t know. The lady, she seemed nice I guess.” 

Mozzie’s face screwed up and he turned his upper body to face him. “ _Nice?_ If all it takes is someone being nice to you, you’re in deep trouble, kid.”

“She seemed sincere and I didn’t want to lie to her, okay?” Irritation leaked into the boy’s voice and it sounded close to a whine.

“Have you learned nothing, mon frère? Sincerity can be faked. You have to be careful what you share with others. Especially those who appear the most harmless.” Mozzie studied his protégé’s expression and softened a little, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Diligence is the –”

“– mother of good luck. I know, Moz,” Neal huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mozzie arched an eyebrow and pointed a finger at him. “And who said that, need I remind you?” 

The kid grumbled out of the side of his mouth. “Benjamin Franklin.” Neal’s blue eyes were wide and repentant. “Look, I swear I was careful. I didn’t tell her anything. Not really. We’re safe.” 

“Good, see that it stays that way.” Mozzie let it go for now, moving on. “Design any more original art, Picasso Kid?”

Neal’s face took on a lovely shade of pink. “I’m really starting to rethink that name, Moz. It’s stupid.”

Mozzie laughed, moving to refill his wine glass. “Not enough flare for you, Neal? Would you prefer you just signed it Caffrey? Or maybe NC? Something a little more ostentatious maybe? Because that won’t bring the authorities right to you.” There was a twinkle in his eyes and a smirk pulling at his lips. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m working on something and I think it’ll be pretty sweet once I’m finished,” Neal said, purposefully ignoring any of Mozzie’s insinuations. “And I’ll be going by whatever I want to go by, thanks. Besides, you told me all the best artists find a way to leave their signature.”

“True enough, I suppose, but don’t come crying to me when the feds show up on our doorstep because you couldn’t keep a low enough profile.” 

Neal snorted, unconcerned. “I’m 11, legally they can’t touch me. You on the other hand...” Neither of them bothered to point out that even though kid jail was out of the question, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be thrown in a group home faster than he could blink if he got caught.

Mozzie made a face of mock horror and jabbed a finger at the kid. “That’s cold, kid. Ice cold. After all I’ve done for you.” 

“I know, I’m terrible,” Neal said, deadpan as he stood to clean up the food, noticing that Mozzie hadn’t even eaten half of his own sandwich. He did always love to savor, agonizingly slow. “We gonna continue our chess game tonight?”

“You’re still not going to beat me, young apprentice of mine,” Mozzie said, not looking at him, instead going back to the old film on the television that was playing in the background. “And you know what happens if you lose again.” 

“Yeah, not gonna happen. I just haven’t figured out your tell yet, is all,” Neal defended himself, pouring a glass of water from the kitchen. “And I will figure it out. Only a matter of time.”

Mozzie's mouth quirked. “Keep telling yourself that. You still have much to learn, little one.” 

Groaning, Neal plopped back down on the sofa and put his feet up on the table. “I'm not _little_.” His face squinted in consternation even though Mozzie did have quite a few inches on him. 

“Au contraire, you’re smaller than me. So, therefore, you are little.” Mozzie was enjoying the banter as he ate the other half of his sandwich. 

Neal got a look on his face that meant he was about to say something sassy. Mozzie knew the expression well. “Does that mean I get to call you _bald one_?” the boy joked. 

“That should constitute as a low blow, mon frère. You know how sensitive I am about my hair.” He self-consciously patted his head, but his eyes were light and humorous. 

“And you know how I am about being called little. All is fair, Moz.” The kid gave him a side eye that any preteen would have been proud of.

“Fine, I suppose we all have our short comings,” Mozzie said unperturbed, shrugging.

Neal grinned at him, showing all his teeth. “Yeah, difference is I'll get taller. Doesn’t look like the same can be said for you.”

Mozzie shook his head, mumbling around his sandwich about how insubordinate kids were these days. No respect for their elders. Neal merely snorted into his water glass, unable to hide his amusement.

Later that night the boys finished their game of chess. Neal finally did beat Mozzie, and it seemed the kid was never going to let him forget it any time soon. Neal would surely be impossible about it in the upcoming weeks.

…to be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters, plot, dialogue, or settings. All mistakes are my own. Please suspend any disbelief on any wrong information, especially concerning art and the inner workings of the FBI. 
> 
> Thank you to all who read, left kudos, and commented. I hope you enjoy.

Two weeks passed and Elizabeth was disheartened that she hadn’t seen Neal again. She’d even gone as far as to walk Satchmo every afternoon without fail in the same park in hopes of running into him. It had been a long shot anyway. 

It was early Tuesday morning and the alarm had just gone off. Peter, hair properly ruffled from sleep, rolled to face his wife. He kissed the back of her neck in silent greeting and slipped his arms around her waist. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. 

“Hmm, good morning to you, handsome,” Elizabeth said, a smile in her voice as she snuggled back into his embrace. Seeing the time on the bedside table, she reluctantly disentangled herself and slid out of the bed, padding toward the master bath. The hardwood was cool against her bare feet. 

She finished brushing her teeth before poking her head back into the bedroom to see that Peter was finally getting up. He looked over to see her leaning against the doorframe. “I’m taking a shower. Care to join?” She waggled a finger at him and his face broke out in an impossibly wide smile. 

“Right behind you, Hon,” Peter said, looking eager and suddenly more awake. God, he had an amazing wife. He really was the luckiest man. 

…

  
Their bout in the shower left the couple with very little time for breakfast and getting ready, but Elizabeth and Peter didn’t seem to mind at all. They were busy being way too caught up in each other.

Later, Elizabeth fixed herself toast, a boiled egg and some fruit, unable to stop the slight roll of her eyes as she saw her husband going straight for the Lucky Charms cereal. Hiding her smirk behind her coffee mug when he glanced at her. 

He purposely leaned across her to get the sugar on the counter for his coffee. “Something amusing?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting as he bumped his hip gently against hers. 

“Just thinking that you’re going to turn into a lucky charm if you keep on eating that every morning, Mr. Burke.” She eyed the soggy marshmallows with mild unsavoriness, wrinkled her nose, and bit into a slice of apple. 

He waggled his eyebrows at her, playfully. “I’d be your lucky charm any day, Mrs. Burke.” The kiss he stole from her was full and deep and invited them to stay like this all day, not caring about the food she’d had almost no time to swallow. 

She pulled back very reluctantly. “As much as I'd like that, we’re going to be late for work, sweetie.” She leveled a look at him that meant she was serious, while also still finding him ridiculously adorable. 

He reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, that’s a shame but I suppose you’re right,” he said, a little put out. The idea of more fraud cases was really not appealing, not when he had a gorgeous wife he could be spending more time with instead. “We could play hooky.” 

She couldn’t help it; she laughed at his no-nonsense expression and shook her head. “I can’t believe my strait-laced husband is actually suggesting we call out today.” 

“I can be rebellious. It has been known to happen,” he said wryly just as he put his arms around her waist and kissed the side of her head. 

“Of course, on exceptionally rare occasions,” she sassed good-naturedly as she leaned against him, finding joy in his solidness. 

He glanced back at the clock on the microwave and sighed. His wife was right, if they didn’t leave now New York traffic would make them late. “To be continued later tonight after some Chinese takeout.” 

“From my favorite place?” Elizabeth asked hopefully, batting big blue eyes at her husband like he wasn’t already wrapped around her finger. 

“Of course,” Peter said easily, letting her go so he could put his bowl in the sink before draining the rest of his coffee and doing the same with the mug. He snagged an apple out of the fruit basket for later and slipped it into his pocket. 

They moved around each other with practiced ease as they each gathered all their needed items for work. The last thing Peter reached for was his jacket and his car keys while Elizabeth made sure Satchmo had food and water in his crate by the fireplace. The puppy, still in the house training phase, wasn’t allowed to be left running free just yet; considering all the trouble the lab could get up to without supervision. 

By the front door, Elizabeth wrapped her husband in a tight embrace, laying her head against his chest for a long moment. This was always her least favorite part, having to say goodbye and watch Peter go off and do an often dangerous job. She gently grasped his chin and pulled him down for a kiss. “Be careful and have fun catching lots of bad guys.” She scratched her nails gently down his jaw. 

He smiled crookedly at her, dark eyes unbelievably warm. “I will. Have a great day at work. I love you.” 

She returned his smile with equal fervor. “And I love you, mister. Don’t you ever forget it.” 

When they were outside by their cars, Peter said, “I’ll call at lunch. See you later, Hon.” 

“I look forward to it. Bye Hon,” Elizabeth answered before she slid into her car and drove off to the art gallery where she worked downtown. 

…

  
It was a little after 11 o’clock when Elizabeth saw a familiar mop of dark wavy hair and the slender build of a boy across the gallery; he was admiring a painting. As she drifted closer, he turned to look over his shoulder, having felt someone’s eyes on him.

It was Neal, the boy she met in the park a few weeks before. Elizabeth considered the odds of running into him at random in this vast and crowded city. She didn’t believe in fate, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there must be a reason for seeing him again. 

His face looked caught between shock and a slight wariness that Elizabeth couldn’t place as recognition flitted over his features. He stayed glued to the floor when she approached him, and she took that as a positive sign. “Neal, what a pleasant surprise seeing you again,” she greeted, stopping at a comfortable distance away, not wanting to crowd the child. 

He schooled his expression and offered her a smile. “Hi, Elizabeth. Fancy seeing you here.” His cadence was smooth, and it made him sound older than he really was. 

He took in the name tag on the front of her blouse. “You work here?” 

“Assistant manager,” she supplied, warmly. 

“Cool,” Neal said, and she took note of how intentionally unreadable he was being, and how if Peter were here that kind of mystery would have driven him up the wall trying to figure the boy out. Her husband always did enjoy a good puzzle to solve. 

Struggling for something else to say, Elizabeth looked at the painting behind Neal that he’d been previously looking at. “Are you a fan of Lichtenstein?” 

Neal shrugged. “He’s alright. He does make great use of intertextuality with a balanced blend of pop culture and historical reference,” he observed without glancing back, sounding so beyond his young age that Elizabeth was truly taken aback. 

She couldn’t stop the wide, pleased smile that spread across her face. “You know your art, young man.” 

He opened his mouth then seemed to catch himself from saying something else before starting again. “I uh also think his stuff looks like a comic book which is pretty sweet.” Now that statement sounded closer to what a kid his age would say, but it felt a little put on. There was a keen sharpness to his blue eyes that more than suggested apt intelligence. So, why was he trying to pretend otherwise? 

“How is Satchmo?” Neal asked, changing the subject when he caught her trying to analyze him, and she let him. 

“He’s great. Wouldn’t mind seeing his new friend again though,” Elizabeth hinted gently. 

Neal seemed hesitant, but his gaze didn’t waiver from hers. “Yeah, I’d like that too.” 

The world was against him and fate was not on his side it seemed. Again, he found himself unable to say no to this strange nice woman who looked like his mother yet acted seldom like her. She was messing with his mission, the one job he'd been given, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Keller was going to be pissed, but Neal was going to demand that he pick another gallery to target. One that Elizabeth didn’t work at. How else was he going to protect her without ruining everything? 

Neal’s eyes flicked over her shoulder to the section of the gallery that was closed off to the public. The area that would be getting a new, very expensive art selection and consequently, the very same section that Keller wanted to steal. 

Seeing the clock on the wall, Neal knew that he’d spent more than enough time here already. “It was … good to see you again, Elizabeth. I promised to meet up with a friend and I don’t want to be late.” He edged toward the door but froze at the brush of a hand on his shoulder. 

Elizabeth gave a somewhat self-conscious smile and dropped her hand. “It was a pleasure, Neal.” 

Biting her lip, she seemed to consider something for a moment before she took a card out of her pocket and put it in his hand. “That’s my business card. It has my cell number on it. Call me if you ever want to visit with Satchmo. You know, I could use a good, trustworthy dog walker. If you’re interested.” 

He gripped the card tightly, not knowing how to respond. He wanted to say yes but being privy to what Keller was going to do just a few days later made his stomach twist painfully. He liked forging art and stealing from rich selfish ass hats, but Neal never wanted to hurt anyone. That was pretty much one of his only rules; one he never planned on breaking. Looking at the kind, very pretty lady in front of him, he knew that he’d never let anything bad happen to her. Even if, he had to cross Keller to make that true. 

“I’ll think about it,” he answered truthfully after a pause. 

“Alright then. Goodbye, Neal.” He didn’t know why, but he liked her and that was going to end up becoming problem for him. 

"Bye," he threw over his shoulder on his way to the door. 

Once he was outside and around the corner out of sight, he finally let himself study the card in his right hand. It read: _Elizabeth Burke, Assistant Manager, Dearmitt Art Gallery._ And a phone number just like she said in neat print on the bottom right-hand corner. 

Not even sure why he would keep the card because he knew that he’d never call. If Keller couldn’t be redirected elsewhere than the gallery would be robbed, and he’d never be able to go anywhere near Elizabeth ever again. Everything about this sucked. He’d have to think of something quick if he was going to stop Keller. Shaking his head at himself, he put the card in his pocket and went on his way. After all, he had news to deliver. 

…

  
Peter called on Elizabeth’s lunch break and she was happy to hear his voice. “Anything interesting happening on your fraud cases, honey?” she inquired upon greeting, sitting on the patio of a sandwich shop around the corner from her work.

“Not really, but a grand larceny case landed on my desk today. Hughes informed me it took precedence over all my other cases,” Peter said around a mouthful of burger at his desk. His work phone wedged between shoulder and chin. 

“You definitely won’t be bored now,” Elizabeth asserted.

“I’m embarrassed to admit I was a little too excited about it. I might have scared Jones a bit with my enthusiasm.” 

Her laugh was warm in his ear. “That sounds about right, dear.” 

“And how’s your morning been so far? The new art exhibit coming along?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and kicking his feet up on the desk, eyeing the now taunt phone cord and hoping he didn’t accidentally pull it out. 

“Everything is great. The new section should be finished by the end of the week.” A quick exhale of breath on her end of the line like she was remembering something. “Oh, and you’ll never believe who I ran into earlier.” 

“Who?” Peter questioned, enjoying the delight in her voice as he wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin and tossed the remnants of his lunch in the trash. 

“The boy from the park. Neal. Isn’t that crazy? I mean what are the odds of that, Peter?” Elizabeth said in disbelief. 

He arched his eyebrows, intrigued. “Really? I thought you said he was a little kid. Seems a bit young to be walking around an art gallery on his own.” A child unsupervised could only find trouble. 

She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s that young, honey. Children can have an appreciation for art too, you know.” 

Peter rubbed at his forehead. “Right, yeah, of course. Did you have any more enlightening conversations with him?” 

“I found out he’s quite informed about art for someone who seems a bit young...” Her voice took on a teasing tone at the end. 

Peter suppressed a grin and took a quick sip of his drink. “Sounds like the two of you would really hit it off. Maybe you should ask if he likes Nancy Drew novels or pottery. That’d be icing on the cake, Hon.” His teasing tone matched hers. 

“Because that will go over so well with a preteen boy. Seriously though, Peter, you would get a kick out of figuring out this kid. I know how much you like the smart ones.” 

“Now, you’re making me want to meet him,” Peter said, semi-serious. 

There was a brief pause. “...I may have asked if he’d like to walk Satch sometime soon. Our boy could use a regular dog walker. You know how hectic our work week can get from time to time and he’s a puppy, he needs the added stimulation,” Elizabeth admitted, biting her lip. 

Peter sighed. “I’d ask if you know anything about this kid like even his last name, but I know what you’re going to say.” 

“And I know what you’re going to say, Peter. He's a child, not a criminal.” 

“El, I’m aware of that. I’d just like to suggest some caution. More than anything I want you to be safe,” he stressed, hoping she understood the seriousness of what she’d offered. 

She nodded, brows furrowing. “I promise I’ll be careful, Peter.” Torn between finding his protectiveness endearing and annoying. 

Being married to a federal agent made it hard for anyone new to come into their lives because Peter, God love him, always came on a little bit too strong with his background checks and surveillance van watching. Elizabeth absolutely adored his sense of justice and constant state of vigilance, but his caution of new faces bordered on outright mistrust and even paranoia at his most extreme. Her husband liked to know who exactly he was letting into his world and Elizabeth couldn’t blame him one bit for it. Peter was quite the contradiction with his general thoroughness and attention to detail, and yet he could never seem to recall the names of any of the people they’d tried to connect with outside of work over the years. 

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “If the kid’s going to be walking our dog and knowing where we live, I’d like to meet him.” _So, I can make my own assessment_ was the unspoken addition to his statement. 

“Please, don’t run a background check on him,” Elizabeth pleaded, partially joking. 

Peter shook his head even though she couldn’t see. “He’s a minor so there wouldn’t be much to find out. We’d be better off just talking to him. Maybe you could. You know how I hate going into a situation blind.” 

She shook her head in mild exasperation. Sometimes her husband really was unbelievable. “Honey, the whole point of meeting someone new is to not know anything about them. That’s how normal people do it so you’re going to have to just suck it up.” She made her voice stern. “That means no interrogating him.” 

“Hon, I know how to talk to people. I don’t need a lesson.” 

“Would you care to review how we first met? Or how you figured out I was single?” she questioned, listening to him practically sputter on the other end of the line. 

Peter leaned forward, mouth pulling down into a frown. “You said the surveillance thing was cute,” he accused, ears turning pink. 

Her lips curled into a half smirk. “And it _was_ cute, but you have to admit it wasn’t normal. I don’t want to scare Neal away. I like him and I think you should give him a chance. I think he may end up surprising you. In a good way.” 

He huffed, picking up a pen to fidget with it. “You mean you don’t want me to scare him away. Message received, Hon.” There was no bite in his tone, only resignation and acceptance. 

She gave an aborted chuckle. “If it’s any consolation, I think he’s going to like you.” Peter’s snort meant that he didn’t believe her one bit. He was incredibly awkward around kids, always had been. 

For reasons Elizabeth couldn’t fathom, kids made her husband uncomfortable. A common occurrence that she wasn’t sure quite how to remedy. 

“Right,” he muttered into the receiver. 

“You’ll see,” Elizabeth promised, strength of will behind her words. 

They dropped the subject of Neal and moved on to other things, talking almost their entire lunch break away to each other. Neither of them minded at all. When Peter finally put the phone back in the cradle, he groaned and let his face fall into his hands. 

Clinton Jones who’d been walking by, upon seeing his boss’s acute distress, stuck his head through the open doorway of Peter’s office. “You good?” Jones inquired. 

Peter dropped his hands away from his face, giving a firm nod and clearing his expression. “Yeah, I’m good, Jones. Just a conversation with my wife.” 

“Ah,” Jones murmured, like that explained it all and he wasn’t expecting more info. 

Peter continued. “My wife made friends with this boy in the park, and she ended up asking him to walk our dog. I mean, El, _really_ likes this kid. Next, she’ll probably invite him to dinner. She doesn’t know anything about him though, which is like asking for trouble in my opinion...I just... I don’t know. What do you think, Jones?” Peter squinted at him and clicked his pen anxiously. 

Jones shifted his feet on the carpet, not wanting to tell his boss that he might be overreacting. So, he said the next best thing. “Honestly? I’d say you’re pretty stuck. I’m not married, but I know when a woman makes up her mind there’s really not much you can do about it.” He rolled a shoulder and pursed his lips. “It’s just dog walking, right?” 

Peter still looked wary and skeptical. 

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” The younger agent assured. “I mean, does a kid hanging around really sound so terrible to you?” 

“You have no idea. I’m literally the worst at talking to kids,” Peter admitted lowly, looking away. “I never know want to say which usually leads to me saying the wrong thing. It’s bad, trust me on that, Jones.” 

Jones tapped the door frame with his hand and offered a comforting smile. “Well, trust me, Peter. You know what they say. Just be yourself and you’ll be fine.” He glanced at his watch and frowned apologetically. “I – uh – hate to cut this short but I better get back to it.” 

That simple advice didn’t sound all that helpful. “Yeah, thanks Jones.” Peter didn’t know if he felt any better about it, but he knew it was stupid to feel wary of meeting a kid. He shook himself of the distracting thoughts and went back to working on the grand larceny case. 

…

  
Peter and Elizabeth shared kung pao chicken and shrimp lo mein and huddled together on the back porch to stargaze while Satchmo played in the yard. After making love, they laid boneless in their king size bed, her head on his chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. His hand that had woven into her hair was now slackened in sleep. The clock on the bedside table read just after midnight, but Elizabeth remained awake while her husband slept on unaware.

Her mind refused to let her rest, instead insisting on reminding her of a conversation she’d had with Peter almost two years before. The subject matter not something she had thought about thoroughly since. 

They’d been nearing their third year of marriage when talks of the possibility of children had come up after a dinner with Elizabeth’s family had led to the announcement of her sister’s pregnancy. Her parents, of course, had to inquire if her and Peter had any baby plans in the future. Her husband had been awkward and fumbling for words, dark eyes pleading for her to jump in and save him, while Elizabeth had been taken off guard herself. 

She hadn’t known before then how difficult it’d be to explain the agreement that she and Peter had come to their first year of marriage to her beloved and nosy parents. They’d decided early on that children were not high on the priority list and maybe never would be. Elizabeth and Peter were both so motivated by burgeoning careers and the thrill of each other, furthering their already complicated lives seemed almost impossible to contemplate. They were happy as just El and Peter, in love, and complete in each other, nothing more seemed necessary. 

Even now, two years later, she still wasn’t second guessing the decision they’d made, and she didn’t believe Peter was either. They were more content now than she could ever recall them being. Their careers were on fire and the puppy Peter had adopted a month before for their fifth anniversary had satisfied both of their small needs of desiring something warm and welcoming to come home to every night. They were truly lacking nothing. 

So, why was it that Elizabeth couldn’t stop thinking about Neal? Why did she hope that he called her? Why did she feel so drawn to him? This boy who probably had a family of his own and would resist any attempts she made at getting to know him. 

It was surely crazy that she was having all these thoughts about a kid that she’d met only twice and knew next to nothing about. She trusted her intuition, and it was telling her to explore this further even as she considered the idea that she maybe was overthinking it. 

Looking up at her slumbering husband, she pressed feather light lips to the underside of his jaw and reveled in the feeling of him unconsciously pulling her even closer. She let the sound of his even, deep breathing and the click of their ceiling fan lull her to sleep.  


  


...to be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just playing in the sandbox. Please forgive any wrong information pertaining to the FBI, art, and adoption procedures.
> 
> Thank you for reading, giving kudos, and commenting.
> 
> Please enjoy.

Neal dialed Mozzie’s number while his thoughts grew heavy with worry and indecision as he walked down the sidewalk away from the art gallery. His mind kept circling around ideas of how he was going to fix this, if it was even salvageable at this point. He didn’t want to think about the odds of Mozzie not only agreeing to help, but somehow being able to con Keller into changing his mind. 

Trying to shake off the feeling of dread that pooled in his stomach, Neal didn’t want to analyze the real reason that this mattered so much to him. He was probably being a baby about this whole thing. He liked to think that he knew Mozzie well enough to have a pretty good idea of how he felt about violence and endangering innocents. Neal was positive the man abhorred it, so he’d just have to try and trust that nothing bad was going to happen. Even if trust was a foreign concept to Neal and putting that much faith in someone else felt like pulling his own teeth. 

His friend answered on the second ring. “What color is the mockingbird?” Mozzie asked as way of greeting. 

“It’s me, Moz,” Neal said tiredly, not in the mood. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who ‘me’ is. Now, what color is the mockingbird?” 

Slowing his gait, Neal clutched the flip phone tighter. “Mozzie...” Neal really didn’t have time for his paranoia. They were talking on burn phones that stayed wiped clean. It was fine. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! No names! What’s the point of the code phrase if we’re not going to use it?” He ground out in irritation. 

Neal raised his eyebrows. “You insisted on that and I never agreed.” 

A sigh could be audibly heard, and Neal could almost imagine Mozzie’s frustrated expression. “I’m assuming you’re calling because you have news to give,” he intoned, dully, unimpressed with the boy no doubt. 

Neal didn’t even know how or where to begin, only that it probably shouldn’t be done over the phone. Mozzie didn’t trust technology anyhow. “Face to face, not over the phone. This is important.” 

“Because that isn’t ominous at all,” Mozzie muttered to himself. “Alright, meet me back at the studio in 30,” he said to Neal. 

“No, not there –” Neal said hurriedly before he stopped himself, eyelids shuttering closed and opening again rapidly. He glanced around anxiously, but no one was paying him any mind. 

“I want to meet somewhere else. Just in case of...” he trailed off, unsure what exactly he was even meaning to say. Except that he really didn’t trust Keller, and even though Mozzie swept for bugs daily, Neal didn’t want any chance of this conversation being monitored. Not when there was a good possibility that everything they’d worked for over the past month and a half was about to come crumbling down. All because Neal couldn’t let one woman he barely knew get caught up in a robbery. Persuading Mozzie into helping him figure out a plan was literally his only hope. 

“Just in case of what?” Mozzie repeated, sounding concerned now. “Is something wrong, mon frère?” 

Neal winced. “Not exactly. Just meet me and I’ll explain.” 

Noise clattered across the line for a moment and then a horn honked far off. “Is the mockingbird in danger of getting captured?” Mozzie asked carefully, overlapping the background sounds. 

“No, mockingbird is still roaming free,” Neal answered in code back to him, grudgingly. “Please, Mozzie.” 

Considering those words hardly ever passed the kid’s lips without him being up to mischief or something very serious, Mozzie knew to take him at his word. “Alright, kid. I’m going to ignore the fact that you just said my name, again, and text you an address. One question before you go: should I be worried?” 

Biting his lip, Neal waited to answer until he’d slipped through a throng of people walking over the street crossing. “No, not worried, but...uh...you might be a bit cross with me.” 

Mozzie groaned. _“What have you done now?”_

“I’ll tell you later when I meet you at the address,” Neal said quickly, already feeling the build of a tirade from his friend. He really didn’t want another lecture about his carelessness and, in Mozzie’s grand opinion, often stupid, reckless behavior. 

“And make sure you aren’t being tailed,” Neal ordered a final instruction. 

Mozzie scoffed, offended by that. “As if I’d let myself be –” 

Neal flipped his phone closed, knowing he’d get chewed out later for hanging up on him, but he really wasn’t up for one of Mozzie’s ramblings and grumblings. Not a moment later his phone beeped with a text of the address where they’d be meeting. A second beep followed quickly after that. 

The message after the address read: _Don’t think I’ll be forgetting you just hung up on me. Honestly, mon frère, distasteful._

Neal sighed deeply and typed a short response. _Sorry._

_No, you’re not._ Mozzie fired back, always needing to have the last word. 

Rolling his eyes and fighting a grin, Neal answered, knowing the typing of his name would aggravate him to no end. _I’ll see you soon, Moz._

… 

_Storage Unit 87._ Neal smiled and shook his head at his friend’s latest text as he neared the specified destination. Not wanting to push him too far, Neal decided to keep the sassy response to himself. 

Just as he walked up to the unit, Mozzie seemed to appear behind him out of thin air, and he barely managed not to startle. “There a particular reason we couldn’t meet at the studio?” Mozzie asked, folding his arms over his chest. “Normally, _I’m_ the paranoid one. What’s really going on, Neal? Is there a hiccup at the gallery I need to inform Keller of?” 

Neal took a deep, steadying breath, knowing he should tell the truth. “You could say that, but you shouldn’t tell Keller.” 

Mozzie studied the boy’s expression, moving to unlock and open the storage door. “What am I not telling him?” he questioned warily, motioning for the kid to precede him inside as he reached for the switch to the swinging overhead bulb. 

“You know the woman from the park, the one with the dog?” Neal started from the beginning, hoping it would possibly lessen the blow if Mozzie understood fully where he was coming from. At his friend’s nod, he continued. “Well, as it turns out she’s the assistant manager at the gallery.” Neal glanced around, momentarily distracted by the storage container that seemed to be a place Mozzie sometimes stayed. It was definitely secure. 

Mozzie’s eyes went wide. _“What?”_

Neal raised placating hands up. “I swear, I didn’t know, Moz. I would have never told her my name otherwise. What do I do?” 

Pursing his lips, Mozzie considered him for a long moment before he shook his head. “You’re not going to do anything. This changes nothing,” he said firmly, pushing his glasses further up his nose and moving to walk further into the unit. 

The kid’s eyebrows furrowed, mildly affronted. “How can you say it changes nothing? This isn’t just some random gallery heist. This is where Elizabeth works. Please, you have to get Keller to change his mind. Pick another gallery. I’ll paint more forgeries for him, no charge. I’ll do _anything_.” He didn’t like how desperate he sounded, but this was important to him even as he resisted stomping his foot in frustration. Attitude wouldn’t help right now. 

Mozzie explained further, calmly. “It changes nothing because the heist is happening in the middle of the night. No one will be there, not even the guards. It’ll be fine. As for talking to Keller, how do you suppose I’d change his mind? Hypnosis? The man is a mountain once he’s decided on what he wants, and he wants what’s in that gallery. There’s nothing that you or I can do about it.” He was waving his hands rather dramatically. “And I have no desire to cross a man like Matthew Keller. I don’t have a death wish.” 

Seeing how upset Neal was, Mozzie softened slightly, moving to stand in front of him. “What’s really bothering you, mon frère? It’s unlike you to be so willing to throw your hard work away over some stranger. I know how much your art means to you, but it seems to me like protecting this woman is even more so. Why? What is it about her?” 

Neal deflated. “She reminds me of my mom,” he uttered softly, not wanting to explain further. 

Mozzie cocked his head, face flashing with empathy. “Neal, why didn’t you just tell me that? No wonder –” He cut himself off and started again. “Look, if it means that much to you, I’ll help you look out for her. We’ll do everything we can, but we’re not messing with Keller’s plans. And for the sake of our general welfare, I’m telling Keller the scouting went down without a hitch.” 

“Is Keller really that bad?” Neal wondered. 

Mozzie put his hand on the kid’s shoulder and guided him toward the sofa wedged awkwardly in the middle of the container. “Trust me, there’s a reason he hasn’t seen your face. I didn’t think it prudent that a man of his...temperament go anywhere near you. If he ever found out his art forger was an 11 year old kid...” 

Neal smiled somewhat unperturbed, sitting down on the sofa as Mozzie went to the bookshelf against the opposite wall. “I’d be working for free?” he guessed, kicking his shoes off like he might stay awhile. 

“Something like that,” Mozzie said, but his expression suggested worse as he reached for a book. “Promise me, Neal, that you’ll be careful. Keller is not a man you cross without serious consequences. So please, don’t do anything stupid.” 

Neal squinted. “Like what?” He was baiting his friend and Mozzie knew it. 

“Like _anything_.” He knocked the hardback book against the boy’s shoulder for emphasis before sitting down next to him. “Because if you get yourself into trouble then I’ll feel obligated to help get you out of it which in turn won’t be good for business –” 

“You made your point, Moz,” he interrupted. 

Neal tapped his fingers idly against the cushion, quickly realizing there wasn’t anything for him to do, and he really was curious about Mozzie’s odd living arrangements. “I... uh ...thought you were staying at the studio with me.” 

“I am,” Mozzie said, nose stuck in the book. 

“Then why does it look like you live here?” Neal asked, reaching out to touch a pawn on the chess board to the right of him. 

Mozzie rolled a shoulder. “The studio is mostly a front if people ask questions. One can never have too many safe houses.” His eyes slid to the side. “Don’t touch that. I’m in the middle of a very serious game.” Neal wondered if this could even count as a safe house... considering it was the size of a one-car garage. How did Mozzie even stand the humidity in the cramped space? 

The kid dropped his hand. “And who’s winning?” Neal inquired, lips quirking. 

“I am,” Mozzie said it like it was obvious and Neal should quit talking. 

Neal stood up off the sofa, stepping back into his shoes. “Right, I’m going back to the studio. Are you staying here?” 

“I paid cab fare across town to get here, I’m not wasting that. There’s some stuff I need to take care of, but I’ll catch up with you later. Call me if there’s trouble,” Mozzie said and Neal took that as the dismissal it was and walked out of the storage unit. 

… 

It was late Thursday afternoon before the White Collar Unit had a break in their grand larceny case. Junior Special Agent Diana Berrigan strode into the conference room, a wide smirk on her face. Most of the agents in the room glanced up at her approach, but she was only interested in one agent at the head of the table who had his head down. 

“Boss, I think we got the lead we’ve been looking for,” she said as she drew close. 

Peter and Jones both looked up from where they’d been hunched over a collection of files. Evidence of a long day written in the lines of their faces and the rolled up sleeves of their dress shirts and loosened ties. Their jackets were thrown haphazardly over the backs of the chairs and even the empty food cartons had yet to be removed. 

“Please, tell me it’s something good,” Peter requested, hands perched on the table. 

Diana looked very pleased which was a good sign, folding her hands together in front of her. “You were right about putting surveillance on Andrews’ girl. He reached out to her 20 minutes ago about meeting up. We got a location.” 

Peter slapped his hand against the table, grinning. “About damn time. Okay, if we catch Andrews and get him to flip on his partner, then we’ll have our guy we’ve been looking for. Let’s nail these bastards to the wall.” 

It was a working theory that Marcus Andrews, previously convicted of petty theft and burglary, played second fiddle to whoever was actually pulling the strings. After going over the security tapes, Peter had concluded that the unidentified partner was the brains behind the heists. Andrews didn’t have the profile to match the mastermind calling the shots. Whoever was responsible was escalating fast, getting gutsy and more violent and Peter worried someone would end up hurt or even dead soon enough. Even more reason for Hughes to demand this be a top priority case. They were going to stop these guys for good. 

“We all suiting up to go get this guy?” Jones asked eagerly, a glint in his eyes as he reached for his jacket and slung it back on. He double checked his gun was still tucked into the holster on his hip, safety on and clip full. 

Peter glanced sideways at him, mouth quirking. “You want in on the action, Jones?” 

The former navy officer stood straighter, giving a firm nod. “Hell yeah, I do.” Like that was even a question at all. 

The team leader looked to his freshest agent across from him. “Diana?” 

“I go wherever you go, Boss,” she intoned, immovable and steady in her own right. “The field team is ready to mobilize when you are.” They had no plans of letting this guy slip through their fingers. There was a very good reason that Diana Berrigan came highly recommended. 

Nodding, Peter slipped into his suit jacket too. “Alright, Diana, I want plain clothes agents scouting out the meeting location and at least a 2-block perimeter set up, assessing all possible entry and escape routes.” Agent Berrigan was already moving toward the door at his command. “Jones prep another team to have on standby in case Andrews or the girl calls an audible. We need to be prepared for every possible scenario.” 

Peter turned to gaze through the glass toward the ASAC’s office. “I’ll give an update to Hughes and then follow up with the both of you.” 

“On it,” Jones said, heading toward the exit of the conference room. He stopped long enough to say over his shoulder, “we’re going to get this guy, Peter.” 

Peter sighed. “I hope so.” 

… 

Elizabeth got the call she’d been waiting on, but she was no less surprised to hear Neal’ s voice, tinny and hesitant in her ear on a bright, sunny Friday morning when he should have been at school. She was working from home, getting everything ready for the grand opening of the new art exhibit. 

“Hi,” he said, sounding both unbelievably young and shy. “Elizabeth?” Unsure too. 

She couldn’t stop the wide, pleased smile that came to her face. “Good morning, Neal.” She closed the laptop that was in her lap and put it on the coffee table so that he had her full attention. 

“...I was calling to see if you’re offer to walk Satchmo was still good...” The uncertainty in his tone was almost heartbreaking. It had only been a few days since she suggested it. 

Settling back further into the cushion of her couch, she glanced down at the puppy who cocked his head up at her, having heard his name over the receiver. “It is,” she confirmed, unable to keep the hope out of her voice. She didn’t actually think that he was going to call, no matter how badly she had wanted him to reach out. 

“Okay,” Neal said. “What day is good for you?” She wished that she could see his face. It was difficult to judge anything by his voice alone. 

Glancing at the clock, she bit her lip and wondered if requesting today would be too soon and scare him off. Peter was supposed to be home for lunch, able to spare some time after he’d caught one of the thieves from his case the day before. She really wanted her husband to meet Neal but didn’t know if it was the best idea to spring it on the both of them so quick. Peter really didn’t appreciate surprises. 

She decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “Are you free around lunch time today?” There was a brief silence on the other end and Elizabeth held her breath, wanting him to agree. 

Finally, he responded. “Yeah, sure.” Like he didn’t know quite what else to say. 

“Good,” Elizabeth chirped. “My husband will be by for lunch too, and you can meet him.” She added carefully, “I hope that’s alright.” Her eyebrows furrowed. 

“Your husband?” Something odd fluttered in his voice almost like nerves, but she didn’t know what he had to be nervous about. Was she pushing too hard? Coming on too strong? 

“Yes, his name is Peter. You’re more than welcome to join us for lunch too, sweetie,” she offered kindly, careful as she could be about keeping her tone neutral and light. 

“That’s fine,” he said, this time sounding clearer like he’d gained his footing. “Are you sure your husband won’t mind?” There was very real anxiety in his voice that he couldn’t fully mask. 

She smiled. “I promise he won’t mind a bit. How does 12:30 sound to you?” 

There was a prolonged beat of silence. “Okay,” he said again, and she took that for the small win that it was. 

“I’ll text you my address, okay sweetie?” 

“Yeah,” Neal responded. “See you soon.” 

Elizabeth stood up off the sofa and Satchmo, who’d been at her feet, got up too, tail wagging and mouth panting. “See you in a bit, Neal.” After sending him the address, she practically raced to the kitchen in her excitement to see what food she had that a preteen boy would eat. The puppy trotted after right on her heels. 

... 

Two and a half hours later, Neal stood on the stoop of the Burke’s Brooklyn townhouse, palms sweaty and pulse thumping in his ears. He was battling internally about whether he should just take a cab and pretend like he was never there. Ditch his burn phone and tell Mozzie the number had been compromised. Prospect Park and the Dearmitt Gallery would be off limits, but it was possible to avoid Elizabeth. It would be hard but not impossible. She’d wonder what happened to him, but eventually she’d get over it and forget about him. 

This was stupid. The whole thing was probably one of the most idiotic stunts he could have pulled and that was saying something. It was no doubt in a con artist rule book somewhere: don’t get too close to people. Even in the criminal world, he couldn’t follow rules to save his life. 

It clearly didn’t matter that he more than knew that Elizabeth’s gallery was going to be robbed for paintings that collectively were worth at least a few million dollars, and he wasn’t going to say anything. Not just to protect himself, but the role Mozzie had played in it too. Not to mention, Keller, who’d have his head if he played the part of a rat. Neal preferred his head firmly on his shoulders and all his bones not broken. 

To top it all off, he’d had it confirmed by Mozzie that if he did anything to mess with the heist, Keller would most likely find out and do something awful and unmentionable to him. Which really didn’t sound pleasant. So, it spoke volumes that he was willing to risk life and limb if it meant that Elizabeth would be safe. The robbery was supposed to be in the middle of the night or so Mozzie said, but Keller didn’t sound like a man known for staying true to his word. Neal would just have to keep an extra close eye on the gallery over the next week just in case. 

Neal didn’t think he’d ever been so nervous about being himself around someone else. It was getting borderline ridiculous. He didn’t even know these people. He shouldn’t care what they might think of him. It was dog walking and nothing more. It was easy to indulge now because he knew being around the Burkes wouldn’t last long. Knowing it was only a temporary arrangement made him feel better. It meant he’d never get the opportunity to know them, and if he didn’t know them then he wouldn’t care about disappointing them. 

Having steeled himself as best he could, Neal wiped his clammy hands on his jeans and then walked up the steps. He rapped his knuckles against the door and held his breath. He didn’t have to wait long until the door opened, but instead of Elizabeth, a man stood in the doorway. Neal knew that he was most likely the before mentioned husband. 

The guy seemed giant compared to Neal’s small stature, broad shouldered and a face lined with experience and possibly the perpetual need to fix whatever he thought might need fixing. He wore a middle class suit that looked like it had seen better days, and in Neal’s opinion, had gone out of style back in the nineties. Neal wondered how a man who looked like he scowled for a living ended up with someone as beautiful as Elizabeth. 

He did also know that appearances could often be deceiving, so he tried not to be so quick to judge. If Elizabeth had married this guy, he couldn’t be bad. She didn’t seem the type to make that sort of mistake. 

Neal realized belatedly that he was staring and instead offered a smile that was shakier than he would have liked. “Uh, hi. Is... Elizabeth here?” And his voice cracked. Awesome. 

The man’s mouth upturned slightly in what could have constituted as a return smile and nodded. “Yes, she is. You must be Neal.” He stuck out his hand like he was greeting another adult. “I’m her husband, Peter.” 

Neal slowly took his hand and shook it twice before letting go. Peter had a very strong grip. “Yeah,” the boy said, glancing past Peter to see into the house. 

Peter opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Well, come on in. Elizabeth is in the kitchen getting lunch ready.” Neal walked inside and Peter shut the door behind him. Satchmo came bounding toward him and leapt at his legs as soon as he came around the sofa. 

“Whoa,” Neal said, unable to stop the dimpled grin that came to his face as he patted the puppy on the head and crouched down to Satchmo’s level. “Hi, boy.” In response, the dog licked the side of his face and Neal laughed, rubbing the slobber off on his shoulder. 

Elizabeth stepped out of the kitchen to see the heartwarming picture of Neal kneeling beside Satchmo and Peter watching from the foyer by the stairs, face scrunched into a cautious and unreadable expression. She knew her husband though. It wouldn’t take very long before he was as sucked in as she was by the boy with bright blue eyes and a mess of dark wavy hair. 

“Hello there, Neal,” Elizabeth greeted cheerily. “Are you boys ready for lunch?” She addressed her husband too. “We have a variety of sandwich meat choices and all the condiments you could imagine. From deviled ham to turkey or roast beef. Whatever your heart desires. Please, dig in.” She couldn’t decide what kind of sandwiches to make so she’d just bought a whole bunch of different combinations and would let the boy decide what he wanted. 

Peter raised his eyebrows when he saw the mountain of food on the kitchen island, but only hid a small smile and gazed adoringly at his wife. She really was quite amazing. 

Neal couldn’t quite believe she’d done this either, but wisely only returned her bright smile with one of his own as he followed Peter into the dining area. When it seemed like he didn’t want to be the first to reach for anything, Elizabeth shot a look at Peter for him to break the ice. So, he did by opening one of the bags of bread and grabbing a paper plate. 

“Help yourself, sweetie, it’s okay,” Elizabeth said patting Neal on the back. She loved how Satchmo was following the kid around, huge dark puppy eyes looking up at him and tail swishing through the air. Probably hoping the boy would show mercy and drop a slice of meat. Neal finally moved forward when Peter silently held out a paper plate to him, and he started making his sandwich. 

Once they had all gotten food, the three of them gathered around the dining table, Neal only hesitating a moment before he took a seat across from Peter and Elizabeth. He waited until they each bit into their sandwich before he took a bite of his own. 

They ate in silence for a few long moments until Elizabeth decided she’d had enough of the awkward glances Peter and Neal were giving each other. Like they were trying so hard to analyze the other without words. 

She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “So, Neal, what do you like to do for fun?” It seemed like an easy enough first question, but not a way to ask it that wasn’t cliché. 

He swallowed before answering, knowing conversation was going to eventually happen and questions about his personal life would be asked. He was glad she’d given him one that he could answer honestly. “Um...I like drawing and painting and stuff like that,” he said. 

Elizabeth nodded and Peter spoke up, voicing his own curiosity. “You any good?” She gave her husband a look for his bluntness and prodded him with her foot under the table. He responded with a look of his own and rubbed the back of his neck. He was just trying to make conversation, and he certainly didn’t know what to say to the kid. That was the best he could come up with. 

Neal sat up straighter, confidently. “Yeah, I do alright.” 

She touched Peter’s arm and shook her head. “What my sweet husband means is we’d love to see some of your art some time.” 

“Sure thing.” The boy had a secret smile on his face as he popped a chip into his mouth that Peter wanted so badly to figure out the meaning of. Where El saw sweet, Peter was sure that he saw devious. 

Neal had a particular way about him that intrigued Peter to know end and he’d only just met him. Something in his demeanor suggested a brilliance and level of mischief that belied the boy’s young age and what he clearly wanted people to think. In short, he was no doubt trouble. Peter never did know what to do about trouble, not when it came in the form of a preteen boy. Not when it was trouble that couldn’t be defined. What in the world had El gotten the two of them into? He kept telling himself: it was only dog walking. 

Little did Peter know that as he was assessing Neal, the boy was also doing the same to him. Neal saw, with a sort of jolt and chill that ran up his back, the shoulder holster Peter was wearing underneath his suit jacket and the butt of a service weapon when the man leaned sideways to put his arm around the back of his wife’s chair. The guy was law enforcement, he had to be. Well, that explained a lot about his suit and the brooding, pinched look about him. This was... really not good. Not good at all. 

...to be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. All mistakes are my own. Please continue your suspended disbelief pertaining to any wrong information.
> 
> Please forgive the long delay of updating.
> 
> Thank you for reading, giving kudos, and commenting. Please enjoy.

Elizabeth thought that lunch with Neal had been going well. He’d been reserved and hadn’t offered up much in the way of small talk, but he was there and that was what mattered to her. The only slightly concerning observation she’d made was his reaction to seeing her husband’s gun. The difference in his demeanor had been like night and day once he’d spotted the weapon. The boy’s face had paled considerably, and he’d slunk backwards in the seat as far as it would let him – seemingly an unconscious movement on his part. He’d almost looked fearful before he’d caught himself and his expression closed off and his posture loosened back up. 

Her husband, ever observant, noticed the change in Neal too and wasn’t about to let it go. He tended to be like a dog with a bone about certain things. “Something the matter, Neal?” Peter asked sedately. 

Neal kept his face carefully blank. “No sir.” The added ‘sir’ was reflexive yet tasted odd on his tongue. 

Realizing that the child wasn’t going to admit any sort of weakness, Elizabeth decided to show mercy on him. Neither she nor Peter was going to pretend that his reaction wasn’t at least a little bit worrying though. Whatever the reason for his discomfort, she didn’t want him to be afraid, especially not of Peter. It saddened her greatly when she considered why Neal would be scared, and she hoped it wasn’t because anything terrible had happened to him. 

“Sweetie, Peter’s an FBI agent. That's why he carries a gun. I’m sorry if seeing it alarmed you in anyway. My husband can put it away if it frightens you,” Elizabeth said gently. If the service weapon made the boy so uncomfortable than she’d make sure Peter put it in the safe upstairs or the lockbox in his car. He did have to go back to work soon. 

“I’m not afraid,” Neal rebutted firmly. “I just don’t like guns.” His tone was only barely believable, and Peter’s skepticism was palpable in response but a subdued glance from his wife had him rethinking whatever he’d been likely to say. 

Elizabeth smiled. “That’s alright, I’m not a huge fan of them either.” An olive branch. 

Peter stood from the table and went to put the gun somewhere safe when the boy’s voice stopped him. “You don’t have to put the gun away,” Neal said. “Seeing it surprised me is all.” 

Peter wanted to point out that his reaction had definitely been more than mere surprise but remembered Elizabeth’s request to not interrogate the kid. He let it go... for now. 

Husband and wife shared a brief, loaded look. “If you’re sure,” Peter said carefully to Neal who quickly nodded his assent. 

Seeing that no one else would be eating anything more, Elizabeth stood and began clearing off the table, pausing before taking Neal’s plate. “Are you finished, honey?” she asked. 

Neal swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, thank you, Elizabeth.” 

Her smile was almost blinding. “My absolute pleasure, Neal.” 

She glanced at her husband who, having thrown away his own plate, had moved to begin cleaning up the kitchen, and went to his side. “I’ve got it, Hon. Why don’t you boys talk in the living room before you have to head back into work, Peter?” 

Elizabeth’s lips twitched at Peter’s mildly panicked look, moving forward to brush a quick kiss against his cheek. “Show no fear. Kids are like sharks; they can sense that sort of thing. Talk to him. You’ll be fine,” she whispered low in his ear. 

Talking to the kid with his wife as a buffer was one thing but being alone with the kid was an entirely different obstacle. Peter mentally told himself to ‘cowboy up’ and forced his body to relax. He turned to find the boy had moved from the table in the dining room to the floor in the living room, where he was playing tug-of-war with Satchmo and a chew toy. Peter had been a kid once; how hard could this be? He’d faced down countless hardened criminals, so surely, he could handle one preteen boy. 

Peter rubbed the back of his neck and after an encouraging shooing motion from Elizabeth, went to settle on the sofa. He only had a little over 10 minutes before he had to leave. He could do this. “So,” he began awkwardly, and Neal glanced up at him. “you a fan of baseball, Neal?” That was his grand leading question? God, he was doomed. 

“Not really,” he said. “Sports aren’t really my thing.” A small shrug of his narrow shoulders and a head turned down and away. 

“Ah,” Peter acquiesced, fiddling with the edge of the cover of a pillow against his leg. He didn’t know what else to say and he didn’t think either of them would appreciate a round of twenty questions. “Do you mind if I cut the TV on?” That was the best he could come up with. 

Neal gave him a look that clearly said, _do whatever you want_. The kid seemed far more interested in playing with the puppy. Peter turned the television on and flipped through the channels until he came across a classic black and white western that he used to watch with his father when he was around Neal’s age. _The Rifleman_. God, this had been his boyhood anthem. Back when he thought the only man better than Lucas McCain was his own father. 

“I used to watch this show with my dad when I was a kid,” Peter found himself telling Neal, looking at the top of the boy’s down-turned head. “It was sort of our Saturday morning tradition.” He hoped this would open up an opportunity to talk. “You have anything that you like to do with your old man?” 

Peter had no idea the nerve he’d hit with that simple innocent question. Neal felt the ice settle in the pit of his stomach and barely held back a shiver at the phantom coldness that slithered down his spine. “No,” Neal mumbled, not wanting to talk about anything that concerned his father. 

His tone made Peter glance over at him. Great, he’d somehow managed to upset the kid. El was going to be mad at him. How did his wife do this? It was impossible. He cleared his throat, tapping the remote against his knee. His mind scampered quick for a change in subject but didn’t come up with anything. 

“Any channel preferences?” Peter finally asked lamely after a few long moments of silence, thinking maybe he could entice the kid by letting him pick what was on the television. Peter was leaving soon anyhow. 

Another shrug and shake of the boy’s head. “I don’t watch TV that much.” 

A preteen that wasn’t obsessed with watching TV? That was definitely a new one on Peter. He thought all kids liked that sort of thing. It seemed Neal was an entirely different animal than any kid Peter had ever met. While that wasn’t saying much since Peter didn’t know very many children. His niece was only a little over a year old and didn’t entirely count as a point of reference. She wasn’t much of a conversationalist yet. And he wasn’t exactly close to any of his cousins' kids other than the occasional birthday wishes, mailing of holiday cards, and school pictures. 

Peter looked at his watch and was a little too pleased to see that it was almost time for him to go. Trying to talk to Neal couldn’t get any more awkward than it already was, and he couldn’t wait to slip out and let his lovely wife handle it. The kid hadn’t exactly made it easy for him. Neal was sealed up tighter than some of his toughest suspects. He’d practically have to interrogate the boy to get anything noteworthy out of him. Peter was nowhere near done assessing him, but he admitted only to himself that he saw what had drawn his wife in hook, line and sinker. 

Neal seemed young. _Really young_. There was no way he was older than 12. He didn’t even stand at 5 feet tall and up against Peter’s own towering height, Neal appeared especially small. And something else, he’d never say aloud – the boy was cute. His sharp eyes were the deepest, clearest blue and reminded Peter so much of El’s eyes that it was enough to be unsettling. The mop of dark hair had a messy, windswept look to it, curling the slightest bit on the ends and falling over the boy’s forehead and into his eyes. Definitely in need of a haircut, but the look suited Neal and gave him a picture of adolescent innocence that simply wasn’t fair. Peter refused to let himself fall into that trap. He was sure that boy could flash a dimpled smile and get just about anyone to bend to his will. Not Peter though. He wouldn’t succumb. 

“Well, I really ought to be heading back,” Peter said, getting to his feet and turning the television off, trying not to appear as if he was running away. Neal barely glanced up from playing with a very wiggly and enthusiastic Satchmo. 

“El?” he called out in the direction of the kitchen; his hands perched on his hips. 

Elizabeth came around the corner, dishtowel in hand and hair pulled halfway up out of her face. “Time to go?” she asked, drying her hands off. 

“Afraid so, Hon,” Peter responded, mouth down-turned. Lunch with his wife always went too quick and he never wanted to leave. 

She went to give him a hug and peck on the lips. “Be safe. I’ll have dinner ready by 6.” 

He nodded, squeezing her against his side. “I will, and I’ll call if I’m running late.” 

“You’d better.” They shared a smile. 

Peter almost forgot about the boy in their living room. He turned back to Neal. “It was a pleasure meeting you, kid. Take care of my dog.” 

“Yes sir,” the boy spoke softly, offering the smallest of smiles and getting to his feet. Peter returned a self-conscious smile of his own and walked to the front door, scratching Satchmo on the head as he went. 

After Peter left, Elizabeth grabbed the leash for Satchmo and held it out to Neal, who gingerly took it in his smaller hands. He hooked the clip through the puppy’s collar, holding back a chuckle as Satchmo barely kept still for him, turning in circles on the rug. 

Elizabeth did laugh. “Someone’s excited to go for a walk.” 

“Do you want me to take him to the park or just around the neighborhood?” Neal asked. 

“Whichever suits you, but please let me know where you’re going to be,” she said, her blue eyes intent on his face as she waited for his agreement. He must have looked confused because she added. “I’m sure your parents would appreciate someone looking after you.” 

Her words were surely meant as a kindness and nothing more, but they still made him balk. Mostly because he hadn’t had someone pay this much attention to where he was and what he was doing without some sort of ulterior motive. Even June, as nice of a lady as she seemed had only checked up on him because that was her job. His well-being was what adults often referred to as an obligation. So, he wondered why Elizabeth even bothered. Why would she care other than to make sure he didn’t lose her dog? 

“I live with my brother. My parents...aren’t really around,” Neal found the lie slipping out before he’d totally thought it through. 

It was better than making up imaginary parents and then having to make up excuses for where they were and what they were doing. The Burkes seemed to be especially nosy people and would probably never leave it alone anyhow. 

He didn’t quite understand her expression, but her eyes seemed somber for some reason. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t realize,” she uttered, eyebrows puckering and mouth turning down. The beat of silence was awkward like she didn’t know quite what to say. “Well, your brother might like the same courtesy.” She settled on, sounding unsure enough that it came out more as a question than a suggestion. 

“He knows I can look after myself,” Neal said shortly, hoping this conversation wasn’t going to lead to him needing a chaperone. That kind of defeated the purpose of him walking their dog if they ended up coming too. Mozzie didn’t treat him like a baby. He didn’t need someone knowing his every move all the time. This was one of the reasons that a majority of adults got on his nerves. 

Elizabeth pursed her lips, not wanting to press the subject of his brother and possible other family leaving him unattended it seemed for long periods of time. She was far from cynical, but this was New York City. Anything could happen to a young boy out on his own. Maybe she was being a little too much of a mother hen, but she didn’t like the feeling of worry that swirled in her gut at the idea of Neal being out in the city by himself, no one knowing his whereabouts. She didn’t even want to entertain the thought, but accidents did happen. 

“Alright. At the very least, let me know the general area of where you’re going to be. It’d make me feel better.” Her face was soft, and her tone was warm and lightly concerned. 

Now he was really wanting to know what she got out of this other than a kid to walk her puppy for exercise. He was supposed it wasn’t too big of a deal to give her this. “Yeah sure,” he said nonchalantly. If it got her off his back than he’d do it. 

Elizabeth put a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Neal. If I don’t see you back through that front door in 30 to 40 minutes, I’ll come looking for you.” She gave him a firm look that meant she was quite serious about him returning on time and that she would do exactly as she said if he didn’t show up. “And please call or text if you get turned around, okay sweetie?” 

Neal knew the area quite well from all his exploring, so he doubted that he’d lose his way. However, he humored her. “Okay.” 

She smiled. “Good boy.” She squeezed his shoulder before letting go. 

He almost grumbled out that he wasn’t a dog, unlike the wiggle butt squirming around by his feet and demanding to go outside already. Satchmo barked and Neal finally allowed himself to be tugged out of the townhouse. Elizabeth watched them go, looking incredibly happy. 

… 

Peter walked in his front door at 6:07pm, and Elizabeth had dinner ready to be placed on the dining room table. They agreed on no more talk of work related subjects over dinner, instead enjoying small talk and each other’s company. Satchmo had long since passed out after his long walk with Neal and was snoring softly by the fireplace. 

It wasn’t until they were snuggled together on the sofa with a ball game playing on the television and a mystery novel nestled in Elizabeth’s hands that Neal was once again brought up in conversation. She couldn’t help it; she was dying to know what her husband thought. Closing the book and laying it in her lap, she pressed further into Peter’s side and his large, warm hand settled on her hip. 

“What’d you think of Neal, honey?” she asked. 

His chest moved underneath her with an exhale of air. “That he wasn’t very chatty and he seemed a bit skittish.” 

Elizabeth bit her lip, covering a smile and slanting her head to give her husband a sideways look. “Did talking to him really go that badly? I thought maybe you two would hit it off...” 

Peter shook his head, huffing and waving in a vague direction with his hand. “Don’t know what would have given you that impression. I tried making conversation, but nothing worked, and you know how I am around kids. I mentioned baseball and watching television – things I thought kids his age liked but that fell short. He told me he isn’t into sports and that he doesn’t watch a lot of TV. I even managed to somehow upset him when I asked about his father.” He rubbed at his forehead tiredly. 

He added quickly seeing her expression, his own eyebrows raising. “And no, I didn’t press him for information. I just asked if he had anything that he liked to do with his father, and he got this sour look on his face like he’d just swallowed a lemon. By the end of it, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.” Peter sounded very defeated for someone who'd previously claimed it wasn’t a big deal that he botched every conversation he tried to have with any kid. 

“Your conversational skills notwithstanding, did he pass the Burke Assessment test?” she inquired, tone light and teasing. Elizabeth suddenly understood why Neal had made a weird face after what he’d mentioned off-hand to her before. 

“So far,” Peter answered seriously but his fingers danced across her side in response to her tone. 

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but a grin pulled at her mouth. “Hmm, and what conclusions have you drawn, Agent Burke?” 

“That still waters run deep. I think there’s a lot to figure out about this kid,” Peter said to the top of her head, his own tone unreadable but it didn’t have Elizabeth fooled. 

“And my husband cannot resist a challenge. Something tells me we’re going to have our hands full trying to get him to open up to us.” 

Peter hid a smile even though his wife couldn’t see it; his eyes on the ball game, but he wasn’t really tracking with it. “You sound awfully excited about the prospect, Hon.” 

She let her head rest against the side of his neck and her hair tickled his ear. “I can’t explain why I feel so strongly about this, Peter, but I do. Neal told me that his parents aren’t around – that it’s just him and his older brother. He’s not a charity case, and I certainly don’t want to treat him like one. I just think it wouldn’t hurt anything if we let him into our life.” 

Peter sighed, his breath coasting over her. “That explains a lot about his reaction to my question. Damn. I really did put my foot in my mouth.” His lips pressed against her head and he added neutrally. “Hon, if you want to see this through than we will.” 

Peter would do anything that made her happy and this clearly meant a lot to her. He didn’t want to admit that it had the potential of meaning something to him too if he gave it a chance. Neal had him intrigued, and for the moment, that was enough. 

“I do, Peter. Wherever it leads us.” She turned around so she could kiss him on the lips. 

“Well, it’s settled then,” he said against her mouth before he kissed her again and brushed his palm across her rosy cheek. 

Peter left the game on the television, but he and El moved onto a round of Scrabble and then started a puzzle on the coffee table. Peter caught himself getting distracted by the concentrated pucker of his wife’s eyebrows and the subtle pull of her teeth against her bottom lip as she sorted the puzzle pieces by color. Her bright blue eyes got a twinkle every time she connected a matching piece. It made her look especially kissable. 

Elizabeth took a refreshing sip of her favorite Rosé Merlot and a thought occurred to her. “Hon, do think Diana or Clinton would be interested in the gallery’s preview night for the new exhibit?” 

He pursed his lips. “I’m not sure, but I can ask.” 

“I’ll have two tickets set aside just in case,” she asserted with a nod before adding. “I invited Neal too. Now that I know how much he enjoys art.” She looked at Peter. “And will my dashing husband be joining me Monday evening as well?” 

“Of course, but I’ll most likely be running a little late. Between traffic and coming back here to get ready... Your dashing husband wants to look his best.” He winked at her and she giggled. 

“As you should. You know how I love to show you off,” she replied, still laughing. “It’s from 6 to 9 so even if you arrive by 7 or 7:30, it should be fine. I’ll survive that hour without you.” She put another puzzle piece in its place. 

“And I love being your arm candy,” he said with that damned crooked smirk she loved. “I’ll shoot for 7ish then and hope the traffic will cooperate. Try not to have too much fun before I get there.” 

She smiled. “I make no promises.” His response was to flick a puzzle piece at her and bask in her look of mock outrage and very real delight. 

… 

The weekend passed way too fast for Peter’s liking and soon enough it was back to the weekly grind on Monday morning. Peter and the White Collar Unit worked tirelessly on the grand larceny case, dividing the workload between trying to break Andrews and exhausting every possible avenue in order to find out who the mysterious partner was in the heist. 

It was late into the afternoon before Andrews, after finding out what the day’s date was, caved and said he’d spill what little information he knew in exchange for protection for himself and his girlfriend. He claimed that his partner was planning another robbery and it was going to happen sometime this week. Peter and Jones spent almost two hours trying to squeeze all that the guy was willing to reveal while Diana was working on finding any sort of proof that Andrews was telling the truth or if he was playing them. 

At 5:30, Diana came into the interrogation room and whispered in Peter’s ear. If he wanted to make it home and then to the gallery at Elizabeth’s request, he was going to have to wrap things up soon. When it looked like he was going to argue, Jones spoke up and told him to go and that he and Diana had everything handled. They would finish up the interview and let him know what Andrews had said. It’d be up to suits with more power than them whether the thief got a deal, depending on if anything he said panned out. 

After sending a text to Diana and Jones thanking them for stepping in for him and then one to Elizabeth letting her know that he was on his way home to get ready, Peter considered what a great team he had and how damn lucky he was to have them at his back. He definitely owed them lunch if not dinner for this. 

It took him a good minute, but Peter was able to make it home in record time to shower, change into his best suit, and let Satchmo out for a bathroom break and food. When he was finally headed back out the door of his townhouse it was close to 7 o’clock so he sent another text to his wife letting her know that it’d probably be more like 7:30 before he showed up. 

He didn’t think it was worrisome that she didn’t respond the whole drive to Manhattan. It wasn’t until Peter was a few blocks away and a police car with its lights and siren on, came careening past him in the opposite lane that a gnawing sensation of dread sneaked up on him. Police officers received calls all the time downtown; it didn’t have to mean anything. Elizabeth would have called him – someone would have called if anything had happened. Clutching the wheel tighter until his knuckles turned white, he tried not to imagine worst case scenarios. To calm his overactive imagination, he dialed El’s number but when it rang three times and then went to voicemail, the feeling of cold dread doubled. 

Taking a deep breath, he tried to tell himself that she wasn’t answering because her phone was on silent and talking on it would be considered rude to her guests. She’d text him when she got a moment to talk and by then he’d be there, and everything would be alright. 

However, as he approached the gallery, Peter’s worst fears were made manifest and it felt like his stomach plummeted to his feet as he took in the cluster of first responder vehicles circled around the building. He was suddenly sickened with nausea and anxiety; he just wanted his wife to be okay – _damn it_. Not caring about anything other than finding El, he drove as close as he could and then ran his car up on the curb and slammed the gear shift into park. He completely ignored the stares of the nosy onlookers on the surrounding sidewalk as he climbed out of his car and strode toward the circus of activity. 

Peter scanned the crowd for the law enforcement official who looked to be in charge and made an immediate beeline for him. Removing his badge from his inside jacket pocket, he waved it in two officers’ faces and snapped out a quick _FBI_ to them when they went to block his path at the yellow tape. He always did get rather snippy when he was worried and right now, he was downright terrified. He ducked under the caution tape with practiced ease. 

“Peter Burke, FBI,” he said as way of greeting to the officer, who now on closer inspection was a Police Sergeant. “What happened here?” he demanded, eyes still roaming in hopes of catching a glimpse of Elizabeth. 

The guy simply arched an eyebrow, taken aback. “FBI? We didn’t call you boys in yet.” 

Patience paper-thin, Peter gritted his teeth and repeated himself, stepping closer into the guy’s personal space. “What the hell happened here? Was anyone hurt? Where are the people that were inside?” 

The Sergeant held up placating hands, a deep frown marring his face. “Take it easy pal. That shield don’t give you free reign to talk to me however the hell you like.” The look he received from Peter chilled him to the bone, so he added. “It was an armed robbery attempt on the gallery. No one was seriously injured, and the suspects only got away with about half of what they were aiming to get. Everyone that was inside is either being checked out by emergency medical or being questioned by my officers. You looking for someone in particular?” 

“My wife,” Peter answered. 

The officer’s face softened a fraction in understanding. “Your wife should be over there.” He indicated where the ambulances were parked, and the police officers had people pulled aside and were talking to them individually. 

With a quick nod of gratitude, Peter went in the direction he’d been told, his heart frozen in his chest. As he weaved through the throng of people, he suddenly saw the one person he’d needed to see and felt his knees go weak with relief. He released a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

Elizabeth appeared to be unharmed. It wasn’t until he got closer that he saw a much smaller body seated on the bottom step of the emergency vehicle and a mess of dark wavy hair that he almost stopped short as he realized who it was. It was Neal. 

With a jolt in his gut and a quickening of his heart, Peter saw that the kid was the one who was hurt. Elizabeth was hovering anxiously, no doubt probably firing all sorts of questions at the medic. The EMT was taping a bandage above Neal’s left eyebrow, smoothing it down with a gloved finger before stepping back and examining his work. Elizabeth moved in to fuss over the kid, and for whatever reason, that image caused Peter’s chest to tighten. 

_What the hell had happened?_

…to be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing as usual. This is just for fun. Please excuse any wrong info pertaining to medical procedures, the FBI, and adoption. 
> 
> I sincerely apologize for my prolonged absence. I have no plans to abandon this story. 
> 
> Please read and enjoy.

Peter made a b-line right for his wife, his strides long and purposeful. “El!” he called out to her, his breath short and his tone ragged. He quickly closed the distance between himself and the ambulance. 

She whipped around. “Peter!” Not hesitating, Elizabeth rushed at her husband and they collided in a firm embrace. 

Neither cared that the other was holding on just a little too tight. _“Thank God,”_ Peter mumbled into her hair before pulling back enough to kiss her soundly on the lips, like he might not have gotten another chance to do so again. 

“Are you okay, Hon?” He said, leaning back far enough to see her face as his hands feverishly brushed over her hair, her shoulders, and then her arms, checking for injury. 

“I’m okay.” Her makeup had run and made darkened tear streaks down her cheeks and her face was flushed pink and her body was trembling with leftover adrenaline. He could tell that she was putting on a brave face, not wanting to worry him. He slid a strong, solid arm around her back and kept it there, the contact reassuring them both. 

“Is Neal going to be alright?” Peter asked, jutting his chin in the kid's direction where the medic was talking to him in low tones. 

Elizabeth glanced back at the boy, the remnants of fear still in the lines of her face. “I was told he would be, but no one would tell me anything more.” 

She met her husband’s eyes; her own were shimmering liquid orbs. “Neal saved us, Peter. He triggered the fire alarm. Those … men with guns panicked and left with what they were able to carry. One of them struck him on the head and there was so much blood – I thought –” Her voice choked off and she covered her mouth with a shaking hand, her eyes shuttering closed. 

She added with a downturn of her mouth, “and now, they won’t tell me any medical details and they won’t release him without a legal guardian present. I just want to know that he’s okay, Peter.” 

Head wounds bled a lot; it was common knowledge, but the sight of bright, crimson red on the side of Neal’s young face had sickened Elizabeth to the core. The thought that someone could do that to a child, and then the following realization that they would have probably done worse to him if given the chance. It enraged her beyond coherent thought. 

Peter hated seeing his wife in so much distress even as his own emotions were shaken by what he’d just learned. Those bastards had endangered El’s life, other innocent lives, and they’d hurt a young boy. They had hurt Neal. - Apparently - brave, reckless Neal, who didn’t mind standing up to masked goons with handguns. Peter was simultaneously awed and afraid for him. 

This night could have turned out very differently, one where a child was declared dead on the scene of an armed robbery. All because the kid decided he wanted to take matters into his own hands. Despite not really knowing Neal, his actions made Peter want to shake some sense into him. And then considering his beloved El had to witness such a terrifying scenario? 

As both an adult and an FBI agent, Peter couldn’t entirely approve of the behavior, even if he grudgingly thought it was also damn impressive and ridiculously brave. No need to give the kid a big head about it nor encourage such foolishness. 

If that had been his own son who’d gone and pulled a stunt like that... He pushed the strange random thought out of his head. Peter was most certainly not the kid's father and wasn’t within any boundaries to bring correction. 

He wrapped Elizabeth in another tight hug, running his hands over her trembling back until she had collected herself again and pulled away. “They could have killed him, Peter,” she insisted, breath hitching as she considered what it would have been like to witness that. 

An innocent child. Someone’s little boy. It made her heart positively ache. 

“I know, but you said so yourself – he's okay,” Peter soothed, eyes automatically looking over her head to check that his words were still true. Neal was right where he’d been left, sitting on the back stoop of the ambulance, almost swallowed whole by the blanket that he’d been wrapped securely inside. The boy’s head was down, and he was staring at his feet. 

“Why don’t we check on him and you can ask him yourself, Hon?” he suggested gently, guiding her back toward the emergency vehicle. 

Elizabeth nodded, moving quickly alongside Peter to get back to where Neal was sitting. She immediately knelt in front of him, placing a warm hand lightly on his blanket clad knee. 

“Hi sweetie, how are you feeling?” 

His eyes were tired and a bit unfocused and his head moved sluggishly up and down, before he winced and thought better of it. “Okay,” Neal responded lowly. Elizabeth's face twisted in sympathy, and her hand squeezed his knee when all she really longed to do was pull him in close. 

“Excuse me, sir, ma'am,” The EMT said as he came around the side of the ambulance from where he’d been conversing with his partner. “May I speak to you privately?” Elizabeth and Peter nodded. 

The three adults moved away until they were out of earshot of Neal. The EMT glanced at Elizabeth. “Ma’am, I know we’ve discussed that I can’t release him to a non-guardian, but we’re at a bit of a standstill about what to do. We’d like to have him checked out at an actual hospital, but he is refusing to tell us anything. If contact cannot be made with his legal guardian than we will have to call social services.” 

“Neal said he lived with his older brother, but we’ve never met him,” Elizabeth admitted, brows knitting together. “I’m sure we could talk to Neal about getting a phone number. Social services won’t be necessary.” 

The EMT sighed. “Ma’am, we tried that with no success. And when we mentioned going to the hospital, he clammed up further and became very anxious. We don’t want to force him into anything, but for his safety he really should get checked out. His status as a minor complicates matters, especially if we can’t get a hold of his guardianship.” 

Peter flashed his badge, knowing this would change things. “I’m Agent Peter Burke with the FBI and Elizabeth’s husband. I could have Neal placed into my custody, at least until we get a hold of his brother. My wife and I will talk to him about a trip to the hospital.” 

“Thank you, Agent Burke. That should work fine,” The EMT said. “I’ll give you a moment alone with him.” He went back to his partner, leaving the couple with Neal. 

In the little time they were away, Neal had somehow managed to look even more withdrawn and he barely reacted to them coming back over. Elizabeth shared a loaded look with her husband. They had to find a way to get through to him. 

“Neal, honey, the EMT over there tells me you don’t want to go to the hospital. It’s okay to be scared, but they want to make sure your head's alright,” Elizabeth said gently, crouching in front of him again. 

The boy's cheek twitched. “I’m not scared. I just don’t want to go.” 

Peter put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I think we should call your brother and see what he thinks. He needs to know what happened, Neal. This is serious.” Why was he putting up such a fight about this? 

“My brother doesn’t like hospitals either. He won’t want me to go,” Neal insisted stubbornly. 

“He’ll want to make sure you’re okay. Head injuries can be messy, sweetie, and I’d rather we be safe than sorry.” Elizabeth was giving that look that would get just about anyone to do anything. Very few people were immune to it. In fact, she had yet to find someone who could resist. 

Neal bit his lip and seemed to debate with himself before finally deflating. “I’ll text my brother to come pick me up and then he can drive me to the hospital or whatever. If he feels like I should go. You guys don’t have to stay anymore, I’m not your problem.” 

Elizabeth felt tears prick at her eyes. “You’re not a problem, Neal,” she said firmly. “We’re staying with you until your brother gets here.” 

“Text your brother, Neal, or give me his number and I’ll call him,” Peter requested, but his tone made it clear that it wasn’t a suggestion. 

Neal put on a show of being put off by them but did pull his phone out. He sent a quick message to Mozzie, telling him to come to the gallery but also warning him of all the cops that were there. If he went to the hospital it would only be that much more difficult for his friend to get him out, not to mention the trouble they’d be in if social services got involved. Mozzie immediately responded with an affirmative and an additional request to not do anything further that could make things worse. 

“He’s on his way,” Neal said, wincing at the throbbing in his head. Elizabeth frowned and hesitantly touched her fingertips along his forehead near the bandage. Even though she surprised him, he made no move to pull away. If anything, he might have leaned into her touch. 

“I’ll tell the EMTs what the game plan is,” Peter said to his wife, knowing he was going to have to use his badge once again to get them to agree not to take the boy to the hospital. 

“Will you ask if there’s anything they can give him for the pain?” Elizabeth asked, hating to see Neal hurting. 

“They already gave me something,” Neal spoke up. “I’m fine, it’s not that bad.” 

Both Peter and Elizabeth wanted to disagree, but they let the matter drop as Peter went to speak with the EMTs. After a lot of convincing, the medical professionals accepted Peter’s explanation and promise of taking full responsibility of the boy and his condition. They told Elizabeth and Peter what signs to look for that would need further medical attention and stressed to Neal the importance of taking it easy the next few days in case he happened to have a mild concussion. Josh prescribed lots of rest, water, and children’s Tylenol when Neal insisted again that he wouldn’t be going to the hospital. So, Elizabeth and Peter were resigned to wait for the mysterious brother to show up. 

… 

Even though Peter had not exactly imagined what Neal's older brother might look like, the weird little man in thick-framed glasses and a slightly receding hairline was not anything he’d expected. 

Elizabeth covered her shock better than he did, but it was clear she was taken aback too. 

The man didn’t look anything like the preteen, not in stature, face shape or coloring. Nothing about them was even the slightest bit similar. Peter's first thought was that he and El had obviously been duped, but Neal seemed too young to be involved in any sort of long play scam. This _brother_ of Neal’s though, Peter didn’t trust in the least. There was an air about the man that Peter didn’t care for. 

“You must be Neal’s brother,” Peter greeted when the man drew close. “Peter Burke and this is my wife, Elizabeth. I wish we were meeting under different circumstances.” 

“So do I, suit,” the little man quipped, only having eyes for Neal. “You okay, kid?” Peter blanched at what he’d been called and glanced down at the rumpled suit he was wearing, running a self-conscious hand down the lapel. 

Neal nodded gingerly. “I’m fine.” 

“He has a head injury and should see a doctor,” Elizabeth gently corrected, watching the little man stiffen and give Neal a sharp look. 

“I don’t need to see anyone. I said I’m fine,” the boy repeated, face reddening. 

Mozzie studied the preteen with narrowed eyes, making sure he was telling the truth. He hated being around so many law enforcement officers. It made him itch. “If he says he’s fine then I believe him. Come on, Neal, let’s go.” 

Mozzie had a trusted guy that if the kid was seriously hurt in any way; there’d be no need for a hospital, he’d take care of it. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Neal. Not to mention the petri dish that was a hospital. Too many unnecessary risks. Unknown faces and multiple ways in and out. Like walking into the lion’s den or very nearly so. The only thing worse would be to walk into a police station or agency office. 

Hell would freeze over first. 

“Now, wait just a minute,” Peter said, holding up a hand. “Your brother could have a concussion and you don’t want to possibly seek further medical attention?” 

Mozzie gave him an unimpressed look. “I have my ways of making sure he’s okay. None of them involve getting put on some government list. Nor do I wish to pay thousands of dollars for them to tell me what I already know. I certainly don’t need one of their government _suits_ telling me what to do.” 

Peter's hackles raised and only Elizabeth's hand on his arm stopped him from snapping back at the irritating man. Neal was watching the interaction like it was a tennis match. “My husband didn’t mean any offense. We just want to make sure that Neal’s okay.” 

Mozzie sighed, softening but only a little. “I would never let anything happen to him.” It was said with a firmness that dared either of them to challenge him. 

“Of course not,” Elizabeth responded, affirming and ever the diplomat. “Would it be alright if Neal texted me tomorrow or the next? We would like very much to know how he’s doing.” 

Not even Mozzie seemed to be able to resist her charm. “Neal makes his own decisions, but I don’t see a problem with it,” he said, grudgingly, eyes flicking toward the boy. 

She turned her attention to Neal who gave her a somewhat shy nod. Elizabeth looked serious and somber for a moment but also grateful. “You did a very brave thing today, Neal. Your quick thinking saved everyone even if it was incredibly reckless.” There was both admiration and fear in her tone. 

“I had to do something,” Neal said softly, eyes downcast before he shot the quickest of looks at Mozzie. 

“You always feel like you have to do something,” Mozzie responded exasperatedly, eyebrows pinched together. “That’s what gets us both into trouble. What exactly happened, Neal?” 

Neal bit his lip, hesitant about going through it again. “Those masked guys came in with guns and made everyone get down on the ground. Told us to put our faces in the carpet. I saw the fire alarm was only a few feet away.” He swallowed hard and gave a half-hearted shrug. 

“I’m just a kid – no one pays attention to kids. So, I figured it’d be easy to sneak over and pull the lever. I waited until they weren’t looking at me and then I went for it. It took them a minute to realize what had happened. One of them started panicking and yelling that they should leave. The guy who must have been in charge said they weren’t going anywhere until they got what they needed.” 

“Then what?” Mozzie asked gently. 

Neal's shoulders tensed and his face turned a shade paler. “One of them caught me crawling away from the fire alarm and grabbed me by the back of my shirt.” He recalled the terrifying feeling of being yanked roughly backward and the sound of his t-shirt tearing under the sudden force. He could still feel the large, gloved hand gripping the back of his neck with bruising force and the cold, piercing eyes that bored into his own as he tried futilely to get away. 

The kid’s gaze clouded over like he was reliving that awful moment. “The guy that grabbed me didn’t say much. Just that I had guts for pulling the alarm. That’s when the police sirens came from down the street. The other two guys started yelling again and the guy holding me swung the gun at my head. I tried to duck, but I wasn’t fast enough.” Neal subconsciously reached for the bandage over his eyebrow and winced. 

Elizabeth’s eyes watered again, and she discreetly swiped at the pooling moisture. They’d been incredibly lucky that no one had been killed. It was some small relief that the thieves didn’t want to add murder and mass shooting to their long list of criminal charges. 

The leader – the one that had grabbed Neal – seemed to be the only one who hadn’t totally lost his cool when the alarm went off. There’d been sharp surprise and maybe even a grudging sort of dark humor in his eyes when he realized they’d been thwarted by a kid. If she didn’t know better, she might have considered the possibility that he might have even been impressed. 

She’d already told the police everything that had happened and so had Neal, but that didn’t make hearing it again any easier. Even if being married to an officer of the law made her pay better attention to her surroundings. It was also what led her to pinpoint which one of the three intruders had most likely been the alpha male. 

With trembling hands, she had recalled how well he stood out from the other two men in masks. He’d been almost absurdly calm, his movements intense but purposeful, careful in a way that made the other two men look like floundering fools, waving their guns around and shouting commands. They’d been amateur at best, but the leader, he was a professional. 

Despite all black attire and ski masks, she’d given the best descriptions of the men she could, remembering how important it was to be as specific as possible. From height and weight, to eye color and visible tattoos and piercings. Whether they were left or right handed. If they had an accent or any obvious behavior quirks. Peter had taught her well. These men weren’t going to get away with this. She knew her husband would make damn sure of it. 

Unbeknownst to the adults, Neal was having his own private evaluation and assessment of recent events. He’d been warned off ever coming face to face with Matthew Keller. Mozzie had convinced him that a kid had no business being in the presence of a man as cunning and ruthless as him. His friend had not so jokingly mentioned Keller had creepy serial killer eyes and murderous tendencies to go along with them. 

The eyes of the man that grabbed him, dark and cold and bottomless. Exactly what Neal would imagine serial killer eyes would look like, only a window and no soul to see. Why Mozzie had acquaintances like that, Neal would never know. 

What would happen now? Would Mozzie want to cut their losses and run? 

Keller wouldn’t like it if Mozzie suddenly wasn’t available for jobs. Neal guessed that his friend would want to play it safe lest they tip their hand. Currently, Keller didn’t know Neal was his forger, but if they ever met and the dots were connected, Keller would think it was a double cross. An elaborate set up by Mozzie who Keller knew was more than capable of such deception. The two men weren’t exactly friendly even after years of knowing each other – they were tenuous business partners on a good day and respected rivals on a bad day. It didn’t help that Keller was a naturally suspicious person and loyal to no one except his own interests. Neal didn’t want to know what it would be like to be the man’s enemy. 

Neal’s accidental tie to the feds would land them dead in a ditch somewhere by Keller just on principle alone. It might be cliché, but Neal supposed there was a sort of honor code among thieves – the absolute worst thing a thief could do was rat out another thief to the cops. 

Where did that leave them though? 

Mozzie would make Neal drop all connection with the Burke family, that he was sure of. It was too risky. A friendship with a government suit was a definite dampener on the less than legal life they led. 

Even without the possible threat of Keller, Neal knew how Mozzie felt about law enforcement. According to Mozzie all men with badges were the same. Rats in rumpled, cheap suits who could never be trusted. While Neal had definitely not been around as long as Mozzie, he was starting to wonder if that was true all the time. They couldn’t all be bad. 

He’d talked to Peter twice and despite the _stick in the mud_ vibe Neal got from him, the man hadn’t seemed particularly bad or untrustworthy. Neal was going to reserve his judgement for a later date. With a woman like Elizabeth as his wife, Peter definitely had points in his favor. For all he knew, Peter was the exception to the rule. 

Even as Elizabeth pulled Neal into a hug, he wondered if he’d ever see her again. Peter’s large hand squeezing his shoulder gently was a bigger surprise, but Neal saw the man’s intent in his dark eyes. A gaze so different from the masked guy who’d struck him. It was the good kind of different despite Neal’s unfamiliarity with such a gesture. 

The Burkes were different from anyone he’d ever met. Neal didn’t see the pity or judgment that he so often got from foster parents and temporary guardians. The helpless frustration of the social workers who thought he needed fixing or changing. Others treated him like he was already a criminal beyond saving, destined to spend his youth in juvie and his adult life in and out of prison. It wasn’t exactly encouraging, but Neal wanted to believe something better out there existed. Mozzie for all his bitter talk of fairytale endings and happy families being a society well-honed lie, Neal knew there had to be more to the story than that. 

The only person to even come close to treating him like a normal human being was the social worker he’d been assigned here in New York after his uncle turned him over to social services. A classy older woman with a beautiful singing voice and talent for jazz piano who seemed like she didn’t even need the work or the money. Maybe it was supposed to be her good deed, her way of giving back. 

June, who never once lied, or sugar coated the truth but always gave it to him straight. She’d warned that not everyone would give so many chances to a boy on the verge of his teen years with a long history of criminal inclinations and rebellious behavior. She didn’t try to change or better him or whatever, but she’d hinted on several occasions that he should at least be less obvious when he did hustle someone in a game of pool or pickpocket a wall street suit’s billfold. June was a very interesting woman indeed. 

Neal wondered what she’d say if he ever saw her again and if she’d be mad that he ran away. 

In a way, he’d taken her advice. With the help of Mozzie, Neal had gotten better at not getting caught. He guessed the life he led now wasn’t what she’d had in mind though. June would have approved of Elizabeth and most likely Peter too. For whatever reason, that made Neal feel better about spending time with them. Like maybe he wasn’t stupid for wanting what Mozzie called an impossible dream. He could at least pretend if only for a little while that he was destined to have people to call his own. Ones that wouldn’t leave him or give him away or decide that he was better off without them. 

Neal realized belatedly that he’d let his mind drift and was brought back into reality by a hand on his arm. “Time to go, kid,” Mozzie said softly. He’d missed the rest of the conversation because of his daydreaming but he figured it had been boring adult talk anyway. 

“Okay,” Neal mumbled back, distracted. 

He hesitated only a moment before glancing back at Elizabeth and Peter. Warmth pooled in his stomach and an unknown emotion tugged at his heart when he saw they were already watching him. Their expressions made his chest all tight, but he passed it off as delayed anxiety from what had happened. It wouldn’t do to linger on the tiny fact that Neal hadn’t wanted to walk away from the Burkes. Nor did he wonder what it’d be like if he stayed. 

_...to be continued..._


End file.
